The Misadventures of an Impervious Mary-Sue
by etiquette-faux-pas
Summary: When Marilyn Comett wakes up in Middle Earth, all she wants to do is kick some ass. But the Magic that summoned her is set on turning her into the one thing she loathes: a Mary-Sue! It has also created a series of plot twists for her and the characters of LotR. Can she overcome the battle within, while finding her place in the quest to save Middle Earth? (Tenth Walker, Sue Humor)
1. Prologue

**AU. Plot twists. PURISTS BEWARE!**

**ALSO: SOME SWEARING.**

**I OWN NOTHING EXCEPT MJ AND ORGINAL HEAD CANONS.**

**'Nuff said.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Prologue

In Which I Explain Myself

. . .

My name is Marilyn Jane Comett. Not Mary, not Jane, not Lynn, not Janie; don't even call me Marilyn.

Just call me MJ. Yeah, I know, but I don't like being called Marilyn, so there.

And my last name is pronounced Comm-et, like comet; not Come-it. I know, I know. Just, please get it right now that I've told you.

I am not a girly girl. I am not a cheerleader, part time model, or fashion major; I don't even shop at the mall. I don't paint my nails, don't get ninety dollar haircuts, and I don't say, 'OMFG' or, 'LMFAO' or even 'YOLO.' Frankly, I don't even know what any of those mean. And yes, that means that I don't really like hanging out with people my own age.

I have friends. I mean, girls from school that tag along after me when I go places, bugging me to call this guy because he likes me and he's 'like, soooo hot', or buy this thing, because it's 'soooo popular' right now.

In all honesty, if you tell me something is popular I will most likely walk the other way. The word is like gasoline on popcorn for me. Mushy, toxic, and just plain old repulsive.

Most seventeen year olds don't have the mental capacity for the kind of conversations I like to have. At least, not in my neighborhood. It's funny, sometimes. I can say stuff like, "Blonde girl with the pink streaks, I have noticed that your posterior is enlarging considerably after certain confectionary indulgences I have witnessed you consuming of late. For the sake of your self-entitled, 'sexy curves', please refrain from said confections in future, lest you fall into despair and begin inflicting semi deep wounds upon your wrists with a sharp lance," and they haven't the slightest idea what I just said. I could have been speaking Russian for all they care, and they couldn't understand me less...well, except maybe for Natasha. I like her; she doesn't talk as much.

And no. Cutting is not funny. Which is just my point.

But those girls keep following me, because (lucky me!) I'm the daughter of the richest guy in town. You know that guy who owns the huge mansion made of some kind of tan colored stone, and like a third of all Wall Street stock? Yeah, that's my house. That's my dad: Nathaniel Comett, investor extraordinaire.

And I'm the daughter he and my mother never wanted to have.

Oh yes, lucky me.

Sometimes, I'd just like to walk to my archery practice without being trailed by a bunch of teenage divas with lunatic fringe and overly dramatic eye makeup, ya know? We must be quite the sight: the dark, emo looking girl with a longbow and broadsword leading a pack of teenage girls texting their way to our destination; whereas I look like I'll kick the shit out of anyone who gets in my way.

Why?

Because by now you've guessed it: I'm a bit of a loner.

My parents don't like to be reminded I exist. They wanted to be the childless rich couple who host massive drunken orgies well into their eighties. Once upon a time, when I was little, complacent, and cute, they loved to show me off; a sort of coping mechanism I think, for the loss of that dream. But since I turned thirteen, and rebelled against the 'rich, uppity ways' of their lifestyle, they've shunned me like I was never born.

Only to insult, mock, or nag me do they even speak to me. I'm a straight A student, top of my class; but I am never satisfactory, because I live and breathe.

My response to this attitude? Oh, well pardon me for _living._

With my mother, it's always about the clothes. "Why do you dress like that, it's pitiful," she says, stalking around in her Jimmy Choos and Vera Wang two piece suit, gems and metal hanging off every available extremity. "You look like a park ranger or something. And your hair is always in that skanky braid, with those annoying frayed bits falling into your eyes. Why do you always hide your eyes?"

My eyes. The one thing my parents really ever loved about me. I have these really weird, green eyes, like, bright green. Not electric like a crayon but like emerald green. They are pretty amazing. Yeah, that sounds full of myself, but they are. When people see them they stare, hard. It's really unnerving. Then I get the 'Oh my God, your eyes! Are they natural? Do you wear contacts?' So yeah, I like to hide them away. I dunno how to explain it; but knowing that my parents like them makes me want to deny them the privilege of seeing them on a daily basis. I know, petty, but still. It satisfies my craving for some sort of slight revenge.

As for her opinion of my skinny cargos, leather knee high boots, and dark blouses, well, I love them. They are comfortable, functional for what I do, and in my defense, even my 'friends' are 'totes jealous' of them, or something like that. My hair I always braid, because I hated my hair growing up and that hasn't really changed much. It's totally dense and annoying, really dark black and long. The 'frayed bits', as my mother so delicately put it, are angled bangs...not that she really cares, she just like to put emphasis on how I hide my eyes.

Also, when I'm at the shooting range I feel like Katniss Everdeen ...in fact, that is what the girls like to call me most often. 'Katniss' or Ms. Everdeen'. That, I don't mind, because Katniss is a total badass and although the Hunger Games sucked and she had to go through HELL and back, her life had the one thing mine doesn't: adventure.

Damn do I hate intercity life.

I love nature. My favorite place to go is the National Forest on the edge of the city; I think it's because of that my mom taunts me about the whole 'park ranger' thing. Both my parents hate the outdoors, and will pay any price, however exorbitant, to avoid it.

I, on the other hand, have been known to disappear into the wilderness with my pack, sword, bow and quiver, and not be seen or heard from for a week.

The first time I did that I was fifteen. My parents were fighting over some dumb summer home in Monte Carlo, and I got fed up. I took my gear and just booked it into the forest. I left my phone and iPod home.

When I came out of the forest six days later, happy, healthy and calm, the S.W.A.T team was waiting for me.

After that, my parents made me promise that if I wanted to ditch them, I would at least yell at them to let them know that before I left.

Not that they would hear me if I did. But they made me promise, so...

Nor would they give me permission to go. But that doesn't matter to me. They didn't give me permission to take archery lessons, or swordsmanship training, but I did it anyway. My father loves (oh my god, I just said loves) to tease me for being what he likes to call 'a medieval article', a 'weapon wielding sociopath', and a 'god damn weirdo'.

Thanks. Love you too dad. Love you too.

And for your information, I do NOT fit the clinical description of a sociopath. My dad did not take Psychology 151 and therefore does not know the definition of a sociopath, in its truest form. If anything, HE is a sociopath.

But we won't get into that.

As for 'god damn weirdo' and 'medieval article,' maybe I am. But my coaches don't think so, and neither did the rest of those in my fields when I took state for both archery and swordsmanship, against both male and female competitors twice my age. I may be a freak, but I'm a freak who can kill your ass in over a hundred different ways with either a bow or sword, take your pick.

Besides, what else can a girl do when she is emotionally frustrated from a life with two wealthy nitwits for parents?

Don't even say 'go shopping.'

So yes, maybe I was _partially _ prepared for what happened to me that fall, skill wise. But it wasn't skill that I was going to have to worry about, where I was going.

Apparently my mental state would _become _my biggest problem. In a world where my skills would actually be useful outside of competition, the hardest thing I would have to fight would be myself.

And like much Katniss, the odds were definitely NOT in my favor.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

In Which I Wake Up A Different Girl

. . .

I went to bed that night in a particularly strange manner.

Why?

It had been a good enough day; I had gotten in a solid three hours of private training with my coaches after school. I was even upbeat, because I'd managed to ditch my 'friends' by walking past a frozen yogurt shop before heading home.

But when I got home...

My parents were fighting. Again.

Lovely.

Now, when my parents fight, they fight. We're talking screaming in each other's faces, throwing shit around, the whole deal. Whenever I'm around they love to drag me into it (there's that word love again.) Sometimes, that can be fun. Take one person's side, make them all happy you took their side, then switch parent. However, I didn't feel like having both of my parents on my case. My other tactic, naturally, is to piss them off by employing my stealth ninja skills and avoiding them altogether.

I slunk to the kitchen, which, as always, was Martha Stewart to the max (my mother will buy anything and everything Martha Stewart. Yes. It sucks) and was nearly blinded by the shade of orange that it had been repainted. Our kitchen gets repainted more often than the average teenage girl's nails, I swear.

I grabbed my dinner and escaped to my room to eat in peace, away from the squabbling of my parental units. My room was soundproofed, thank the almighty. No sound made it through the deep blue walls that shielded me from a serious case of the crazies.

I finished my homework after that. Yes, I know that you are falling asleep reading this, and so was I at the time...falling asleep that is. I was tired. It was nice. And I felt oddly relaxed, despite the carnage that was likely happening downstairs.

I had meant to watch Netflix for a while, but I was just so tired...it was weird.

I should have realized how strange it was for me to be tired this early in the evening. I normally didn't go to bed until around twelve thirty, and I woke up at five thirty every morning. I know that seems impossible but it's not. I'm about as close as you can get to being an insomniac without actually being one.

So as I felt myself drifting off to sleep, my last conscious thought was, _I wonder if mom drugged my food or something as payback for that date I didn't go on with her best friend's son..._

And then, I was out.

It was the last I would see of my room for a long while.

I was sleeping quite peacefully until I was awakened by a loud banging. "Uh, mom, I'm sleeping," I grumbled, rolling onto my side. "I'll make dad's coffee in the morning, I swear." I reached for the bed covers, and pulled them up around me, enveloping myself in their blackness.

Wait...my blankets were fluffy. This was thin, like a throw blanket.

It was then I realized that I wasn't in my bed. I was laying on half frozen grass, with a stick poking into my jaw and a cramp in my right leg. With a groan, I opened my eyes.

I was in a wood, in a semi dusk that was similar to the one that had been happening when I'd fallen asleep. A man in long grey robes and a tall pointed hat was leaning on a staff, and staring at me with a half-smile playing across his lips.

"What the..." I said, and the wizard laughed outright. "Gandalf?"

Okay, so here's the point where I tell you that yes, I knew about _The Lord of the Rings, _both the films and the books before I tumbled into the chaos of Middle Earth. Big whoop. I can already hear a few of you out there going, "Aha! So she was a fan girl! I _knew_ it!" Yeah, well, why are you really surprised? What girl in our world _wouldn't_ be, when her main hobbies are swordplay and archery? C'mon folks!

But no; I didn't "fan girl". I was—and still am, despite everything Tolkien, or the powers that be, have put me through—an enthusiast and lover of all things Middle Earth. I didn't 'crush' on any of the characters, and I sure as hell didn't write any gushy fanfiction stories about how I would 'end up' with any_ one_ of the male figures involved in the epic fantasy tale that is _The Lord of the Rings, _let alone all of them_._ I simply loved the idea of a world where my abilities weren't out of place, I could use them to kick some evil ass, and I could simply be who I am out in the forest. That' park ranger' kind of girl who doesn't really give a flying fuck about other people's opinions, but loves (yes, LOVES) to be out in the wild. In nature. In her element.

_That_, my dear readers, is what I loved, and still love, about Middle Earth. You can become who you were born to be, even if others disagree about just what it is that you are, or should be. The ability to govern your own destiny is still in its rawest form, and it is freeing to someone who has grown up in the straight confines of a twenty first century city, with stereotypes and fashion models and television perfection.

And the worst part? Getting away from that world and making it to Middle Earth doesn't guarantee you get that freedom. Unfortunately, stereotypes from our world can sometimes cling to the most unlikely—and unwilling—of victims. And when they do, if you're the victim, you'll be wishing you'd stayed on the comfortable side of the screen.

"Where am I?" I sucked air, stretching my right leg and wishing the cramp away. It didn't work. Damn.

The wizard laughed yet again, but didn't answer me. I saw now that my 'blanket' was actually a long black cloak, fastened around my neck with a clasp made of emerald and silver. I know what you're thinking, but it wasn't a leaf of Lothlórien. It was just a circular clasp, with odd encircling tendrils of silver wrapping around the gem in the center. It was my kind of jewelry: functional. I like it immediately, as well as the cloak, which was as pitch black as night. It gave off a nice smell, like rose petals.

_Why on earth would a cloak smell like rose petals? _I wondered. But I didn't give it much thought. I was busy taking in the rest of my outfit. To my immense relief, the rest of the outfit was my own: dark brown skinny cargos, dark brown leather knee high boots, dark blue blouse. My hair was still braided, thank fully, and also, much to my relief, my grandmother's pendant still hung from around my neck. I would have had a fit right there and then if I'd lost that. It was the most important thing I owned...abut that will be explained later.

By far my favorite thing was that I somehow had my bow, quiver and sword with me. They were lying on the grass next to me, and I smiled at the sight of them. "Glad you guys made it," I said somewhat sarcastically. "Rough ride?"

They, of course didn't reply. But Gandalf finally did. "Rise, Marilyn Comett, daughter of Nathaniel. The time has come for you to claim your rightful place in this world." He paused thoughtfully. "Even if it is not the place you might expect."

"Um, what?" I said flatly. But I got to my feet and armed myself all the same. I always felt less vulnerable—hell, unconquerable—when I had my gear on, and in a strange new place I suspected to be Middle Earth, less vulnerable was definitely important.

Gandalf's eyes shone at me, like I was a long lost daughter or something. "At long last, the shooting star returns to the lands of Middle Earth," he said, almost to himself, "in the hour of our greatest need." He looked at me then—I mean, he'd been looking at me before, but not _at me _at me, if you take my meaning—and said, "Marilyn, it is time for you to claim your birthright."

"No thanks," I said. "I'd rather my dad kept managing the estate...I don't want to have epic word battles with my mother."

"That is not the birthright I speak of, nor are those the 'epic battles' that you are destined for, Marilyn," said Gandalf, remaining very calm when it seemed to me that he should be getting snippy by now.

"I...see," I said, not seeing anything except Gandalf being very vague. "Please call me MJ, and what do you mean by birthright then, if not my family?"

From a ways off into the brush, shouts rang out, and the sound of clashing metal. There was a fight going on. If I were a dog, you would have seen my ears prick with intense interest. Sort of like I was staring after a bone.

Gandalf looked back over his shoulder towards the noise. "Now is not the time for explanations," he said, grabbing me by the elbow none too gently. "Come with me." And he began leading me into the brush.

"Ow!" Dang, that guy has a grip, I tell you. You see all these epic fight scenes with him wielding Glamdring and kicking ass, but you really can't have any idea how hard that wizard can pinch until he grabs you himself. Until that moment, I had thought I was dreaming for sure; but that grip reduced those odds by about forty percent. "What's going on? Where am I?"

"You are in the wilds outside of Bree," said Gandalf. "Yes, you are in Middle Earth, and yes, I know where you come from."

"Well, that simplifies things, thanks," I said, rolling my eyes, which is hard to do, when your arm is being pulled off by an immortal being and you're running through low overgrowth.

"You are not dreaming, either," he went on, just as a tree limb shot out and smacked me in the face.

"No kidding." I spat out a mouthful of foliage. The sensory side of things was really starting to convince me that he was telling the truth.

"This is your reality now, and you must act accordingly. A person of your stature has obligations to the people of Middle Earth, and you are here now to fulfill your duty, and destiny." He was puffing a bit; which surprised me. I wasn't breaking a sweat, though we'd been running for a good four minutes while stooping which can give you awful stitches. Also I thought Gandalf would be in better shape, though I guessed he was pretty old and therefore had a right to puff if he wanted to.

"I'm not that tall, so I really don't know what you mean by 'stature'," I said. An idea hit me. "Hey, did you call me out of my world?"

"Yes, I did." He didn't put much into that comeback, did he?

"Why?"

"If you would have been listening, my lady, you would know very well _why,_" said Gandalf. Okay, _there_ was the snippy. "It is your destiny. I am the summoning force, nothing more. A means by which the deeper Magic has caused you to return to the land of your forefathers." He said 'magic' as though it was spelled with a capital M. He could do that. Probably because he was a wizard.

"My grandparents are from Boston!" I said breathlessly. Why had he called me _lady? _

"There will be time for this _later_!" He cried, whirling towards me. It was close in the thicket we were in, and our noses were almost touching. Which isn't saying much really; Gandalf's nose truly is humongous. "When you reach Rivendell all will be explained. The Lord Elrond knows much of your story and will be able to explain better than I can in the little time I have. Right now you must join in the fight." The battle was close now; from the noise I could tell there were only about thirty people (maybe) fighting. So it wasn't really a battle at all. More like a squabble.

"You will be traveling with a Ranger," said Gandalf. "Strider. Yes," he held up a hand to check my opened mouth from talking, "I know of the details you know. I am able to see your mind."

I shuddered. Creepy. I thought only Galadriel did that.

"The facts you know are what would have happened," he said, "if your family had _not_ fled Middle Earth an age ago. Many things have changed, and now you are involved. You must not speak of the events you knew as fact. They are no longer valid, and others may be led to incorrect judgment based on your faulty information. So please, speak nothing of Tolkien or his work of _fiction._" He gave me a canny look. "Do you understand?"

"Yes." I had no idea what he was talking about.

Fortunately, he didn't look convinced. "Recite it back to me."

My head was spinning. Mindlessly, I recited, "I have fallen into Middle Earth. You have brought me here, on behalf of the Magic. My destiny lies here. I must fulfill my duty and claim my birthright, as well as fight for the freedom of Middle Earth." I paused for breath. Where was this coming from? "I will be travelling with a ranger, Strider. I must make for Rivendell. There the Lord Elrond will speak to me of my past, present, and future." I blinked. What the..?

Gandalf seemed pleased. "Very good. I must leave you now. May the Valar be with you, my child." To my immense surprise, he leaned forward and kissed me on my forehead. It would have been pleasant, if his beard wasn't tickling my face so much.

And then, he started walking away. Away from the fight.

And I understood: he was leaving me to figure out the rest.

"Wait!" I cried. He turned around slowly, one eyebrow arched.

Frankly, I didn't want him to leave. I knew, like any good Ringer, that things were always better when Gandalf was there. But I knew that trying to convince him to stay with no purpose except to please me was stupid. So I fumbled for something to say, and blurted the first thing that came to my mouth—which actually happened to be important.

"You said something about a 'shooting star'," I said. "Like it was a person. Who is it?"

"_The_ Shooting Star," sad Gandalf. There were those capital letters again. He gave me a quizzical look. "The one who wears the Pendant, of course." And there was that stare again. The one where he looked at me, but not _at me._ At first, I thought he was staring at my chest. I was about to call him a creepy old pervert, when I got it. He was staring at something hanging just below by cloak clasp. I looked, and saw my grandmother's pendant.

Guess what shape it was?

You don't have to be a genius to figure it out.

My first thought: Oh. Shit.

"Me?" I squeaked. Yes, I squeaked. "What even does that _mean?!_"

That is when I should have realized it had begun. But I was too upset to read the signs.

Also, right then, Gandalf disappeared. Into thin air.

And from behind me, I heard an enraged roar.

I turned. There, about seven paces away and closing, was an orc.

Like, an actual live, flesh and blood orc.

I barely had enough time to draw my sword before he was bearing down on me. With a few well aimed strokes, he was at my feet, dead.

I watched the black blood dripping off my blade, half in fascination and half in shock. Wow, first time I'd actually killed a person. It was...weird, yes. But not as disturbing as I'd imagined. Perhaps it was because my first kill had been an orc. There's nothing really redeeming about those guys, except they have a really nasty sense of humor.

That was the last time I had a sarcastic thought for a while. I was too busy slaughtering orcs.

Yeah, I got over the shock pretty fast. You have to, when you're defending yourself.

My estimate must have been wrong. There had to be more than thirty of them. They kept coming at me. I was losing ground, and I knew it. They were pushing me back, away from where Gandalf had been leading me, where I needed to get to. That's when I realized my mistake.

"Offensive, never Defensive!" I yelled, repeating what my instructor loved (yes, loved) to say. And he was right. As soon as I started charging the orcs, I began regaining the lost territory. You would have thought that a girl, even a five foot seven girl, would have been too small and weak to take on a whole wagon load of orcs. I thanked the stars for my (somewhat excessive) practice schedule. I had learned from the beginning to use my height and weight (or lack thereof) to my advantage.

It actually went more quickly than I had expected. Soon I found myself in a clearing, where a man was fighting as many (okay honestly, more) orcs than I was. I jumped into the fray and got to work.

He was really good with a blade, whoever he was. It was obvious that he did this all the time. I could only speculate as to how I looked, and I didn't really want to. Somehow, we managed to fight in synchrony, avoiding slashes from each other with relative ease. _This is easier than I thought,_ I mused, almost casually chopping off an orc head. I ducked and jabbed up towards the stomach of one, then slashed the legs out from under another. _Seriously, is this SUPPOSED to be this easy? _My hair wasn't even getting sweaty. My bangs always got sweaty and clung to my forehead during practice, and this was _way_ more intense.

Again, I should have seen the signs. But I didn't.

"To your right!" the man yelled to me. I stopped, feinted left, then skewered the orc before it could bring it's blade down on me. It's red eyes glared before it crumpled to the forest floor.

I straightened, shaking my bangs out of my eyes with a well-practiced flick of the head. The man, oddly, did the same, and we stood there, breathing heavily amidst the corpses.

The forest was silent, except for the faint rustle of leaves above us.

The man let his breath out, and moving freely, turning to give me a confused look. "Who are you?" he asked intently, moving closer. I took a step back. "You don't resemble a servant of the Enemy, nor do you fight like one."

"I am no one's servant," I said, appalled. Of course, by now I recognized him. I'd have been stupid not to. "Nor am I your enemy, Aragorn son of Arathorn. My name is Marilyn, daughter of Nathaniel." I remembered this was how Gandalf had hailed me, and figured this was the smartest way to identify myself in a world where people actually went by 'son of' and 'daughter of'.

Also, I was surprised how my words had just flowed out in Middle Earth speak. Normally I would have said, 'Hi. I'm MJ Comett. No, I'm not a DJ. Don't ask me where my tables are' or something sarcastic like that. Instead, that beautiful verse had just fluttered out of my mouth.

In short, I was surprised at my own eloquence.

Aragorn—or Strider—was very _very _taken aback—though, not at how I'd spoken, but what. "How do you know that name?" He seemed keenly interested. "It is not one for just any person to use so casually. You must be of high birth to address me so informally."

"I am," I said confidently, a little shocked at my own daring. "Although as of now you are but a Ranger. I am a Comett. We do not shy away from those of high blood, since our own runs pure." Seriously, _where was this coming from?_

Aragorn/Strider started visibly. "Your surname is Comett?" he demanded forcefully, literally 'striding' towards me. Yup, his steps were long. Some surprise there.

"Y-yes," I faltered uncertainly. Suddenly I felt very shy. I let my bangs fall down over my eyes and found myself up against a tree as he towered over me, his bright blue eyes burning holes in my head. Okay, not literally, but you get the picture.

"You are very lovely," he said, "even as it has been foretold." My heart fluttered, but not for the reason you would think. I was actually really hoping he wouldn't go all mushy lovey dovey on me, because I really didn't want to incur Arwen's wrath. The last thing I needed was for the Evenstar to have a personal vendetta against me for flirting with her man.

Because, let's face it; even if you'd only read the books, if you were a single teenage girl with a medieval flare, Aragorn was a dreamboat chivalrous dude. In the films...BAMF, plus eye candy.

Had I just said BAMF? And...eye candy?

WTF...?

Even more WTF was what he did next. In one fell motion, he stuck his sword point into the ground and knelt before me, bowing his head reverently. "Long have I awaited the day of your coming, my lady."

Oh. Shit!

"Wait, what?"

So much for eloquence.

* * *

**Sneak Peek: **

_Chapter 2: In Which I Learn That Someone Messed Up Tolkien's Masterpiece_

_"I am not your lady," I said, almost angrily. "I am not anybody's lady. Arwen would be pissed that you called me that. You could have said 'Lady Marilyn' or 'Marilyn' or just MJ! Which frankly, I prefer anyway, but nobody asks me, do they?" I huffed. "Don't get me in trouble with the elves right off the bat. I'd like to get to know them before I trample on any established relationships."_

_Yeah, I knew that whole pretty and well-spoken façade wouldn't last long._

_But to my surprise, Aragorn looked up, suppressing a smile. "You're as effervescent as I expected, Lady Marilyn. My apologies if I have offended you by being too formal—it appears that you are from a society where people are less stately when addressing those one respects." And he rose, sheathing his sword in one deft movement. He seemed amused._

_Dammit. I hate _amusing_ people._

_Also, I felt really stupid after my outburst. _

_Double fail._

**Since there is really no subtle way to put this, please review. **

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	3. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the Favorites and Follows, everybody! And a shout out to ****_LivLoveLaughForever _**** for being my first reviewer. **

**Here's the next chapter for you guys (:**

**-Ana**

* * *

Chapter 2

In Which I Learn That Someone Messed Up Tolkien's Masterpiece

. . .

_**Last Chapter: **_

_Even more WTF was what he did next. In one fell motion, he stuck his sword point into the ground and knelt before me, bowing his head reverently. "Long have I awaited the day of your coming, my lady."_

_Oh. Shit! _

_"Wait, what?"_

_So much for eloquence._

_. . ._

"I am not your lady," I said, almost angrily. "I am not anybody's lady. Arwen would be pissed that you called me that. You could have said 'Lady Marilyn' or 'Marilyn' or just MJ! Which frankly, I prefer anyway, but nobody asks me, do they?" I huffed. "Don't get me in trouble with the elves right off the bat. I'd like to get to know them before I trample on any established relationships."Yeah, I knew that whole pretty and well-spoken façade wouldn't last long.

But to my surprise, Aragorn looked up, suppressing a smile. "You're as effervescent as I expected, Lady Marilyn. My apologies if I have offended you by being too formal—it appears that you are from a society where people are less stately when addressing those one respects." And he rose, sheathing his sword in one deft movement. He seemed amused.

Dammit. I hate amusing people.

Also, I felt really stupid after my outburst.

Double fail.

"Although," Aragorn/Strider continued, "I fail to see why Lady Arwen would be upset with my choice of words. From the way you phrased it, I would think that you believed her to have some kind of hold on me."

"Uh, no shit, Sherlock," I said, giving him an incredulous look. "You two are like, the most melodramatic couple in Middle Earth right now, remember?"

His brow furrowed. "Pardon me?"

"Yeah, sure. Play Mr. Innocent." With an exasperated sigh, I went right up to him (he was about three short steps away) and with my free hand (I was still holding my bloody sword covered in orc guts) I reached around his neck, feeling for the slender chain of the Evenstar.

But all I found was bare skin, and the frayed edge of his collar.

My eyes widened in disbelief. "No," I whispered. "This...this is fan girl material. Not Tolkien canon." I looked up at him. "Did the chain break? Did you take it off for some reason?"

Aragorn/Strider (No, I STILL couldn't make up my mind) raised an eyebrow. "What do you expect me to be wearing, Lady Marilyn?"

"Oh my gosh, stop," I said bluntly. "I _hate_ being called Marilyn. Just call me MJ. And the Evenstar, what else?" Then I paused, slightly annoyed. "Please don't answer me with a question. It's getting old."

"I...don't understand," he said carefully, "why I would be wearing the emblem of her Ladyship's immortality. That is a gift to be given only to the one she chooses to love."

I gave him a meaningful look.

He literally blushed. "So that is what you meant by 'established relationships'."

"Uh huh," I said, deciding to walk away to clean my blade. Smears of gore were hardly lovely to look at, and anyway, my arm was tired enough without having to hold my sword longer than necessary. Plus, shit was getting awkward. I had just gone hot all over realizing how casually I had put my hands around the neck of Isildur's heir.

I had found a nice clean patch of grass and was just inspecting the weapon for any stray nasties when I saw the shape of Aragorn/ Strider coming up behind me reflected in the blade's surface.

_Aw nuts, _ I thought. _Enough of the double name garbage. _"What would you like me to call you?" I asked, not turning around. "I have told you my preferred name, yet I do not know which name you favor." There was that ME speak again. Jeez, it was like I was getting a dual personality. I wondered if it was something in the air.

"Whichever pleases you...I am sorry, but I find it difficult to call one so beautiful something as common and plain as MJ," he said. Damn him, he kept making me flush annoying shades of pink. It was really getting on my nerves.

"Don't...you get flirty with me, mister!" I said, rising and whirling to face him. He caught my wrists and held them, my sword still clenched in my left hand. I scowled.

"Why not?" he said in a lower voice, and I swear, my stomach tied itself in knots at that growly tone of his. The next second, I got more irritated...probably because I resented how he was affecting me. "I fail to see why you would object, if you spoke the truth when you said that you are not anybody's lady."

I couldn't believe this. "Seriously? Dude, we just met! And anyway, if I'm single, and if—IF, mind you!—I am as 'beautiful' as you keep gushing about, then haven't you considered that I might be _single_ for a _reason?_"

"Your temper is no reason for you to be on your own."

"I valardamn didn't mean my temper!" I stomped my foot, feeling terribly childish. "I meant maybe I _want _to be single! I'm a loner; and I'm good with that, thank you! Now let go of my wrists!"

"And if I don't?" He seemed to be enjoying this; I couldn't tell if it was because he just liked messing with me or if he was genuinely attracted to me. It didn't really matter much to me in the moment; I was getting flustered from the close proximity and singular attention from the eyes of my personal hero. "I would be interested to see what a woman so skilled with a is blade capable of."

"If you don't, I will be forced to use a disarming trick known to every woman, not just a skilled swordsperson," I countered. Inwardly, I was cheering at how _someone_ finally thought my swordplay was sexy. Then I wondered if he had meant that in an innuendo type of way. Then, I felt uncomfortable with both of those thoughts.

"Well?" He quirked an eyebrow. Ugh, this guy.

"I will get you in the one place you are not defended, man," I said tiredly. "Don't make me knee you in the nuts. I'd prefer not to have the image of you rolling around on the ground imbedded in my mind for the foreseeable future."

But instead of looking afraid, Aragorn just laughed. Yes, I had settled on Aragorn; otherwise later I would have to switch from calling him Strider, anyway. "As you wish."

I found myself liking the guy, quite without any conscious decision of my own. I thought maybe he was just likable...but then I remembered most people didn't get along with him. I guessed that my own somewhat antisocial tendencies made me appreciative of his.

"How long have you been in Middle Earth?" he asked me, as I sheathed my sword.

"I wouldn't say longer than half an hour. Why?"

He furrowed his brow thoughtfully. "I set out from Rivendell a fortnight ago, awaiting your arrival. Gandalf the Grey sent me to search for you in these woods...it was he who deemed the time right for the prophesy to be fulfilled. I for one was glad to hear it." He gave me another of those odd looks, kind of like the one Gandalf had given me but less fatherly. A_ lot_ less fatherly, and a lot more _something else._

"What prophesy?" I asked. "And Gandalf was the one who found me, a little ways back in those woods over there." I pointed.

"Gandalf found you?"

"Yeah. Then he disappeared on me, just when the orcs arrived. It was great," I said, rolling my eyes. "But before that he told me I had a destiny here, and that I was something called 'The Shooting Star'. What did that mean?"

Aragorn's face grew distant, and his eyes softened. "I am not the one who should tell you that," he said. "You must speak to Lord Elrond of this thing."

"Okay then." I sighed. "You say you left Rivendell a fortnight ago. Is that how long it takes to return there?"

"No." He shook his head, but it looked like it was more to clear it then to indicate 'no'. "I wandered much to find you, before I came upon the band of orcs. It is unnatural for them to roam so far north."

"Not in these times," I said grimly, remembering the dismal details of Tolkien's work. Was it really true that his books were no longer valid here? He had made no mention of a prophesy concerning anyone named Marilyn, nor of any 'Shooting Star'. Considering this, I wondered how much of the plot I had missed so far. "What is the date, in Shire reckoning?"

He gave me a funny look before he told me.

I sighed in relief. "Then it hasn't begun yet. I've made it in time." But that also explained the lack of the Evenstar. Arwen hadn't given it to him yet. Frodo was still safe in the Shire...for now.

Or...was he?

Damn plot twists.

"What do you mean, 'in time'?" Aragorn asked me. "And why do you ask for the date in Shire reckoning?"

I thought a moment before carefully replying, "That too must be explained by another". What? Gandalf had told me to say nothing of what I knew, and I wasn't about to disobey a _wizard_, for cripes sake!

He nodded in understanding, and looked to the east. "If we set out tomorrow morning, we should reach Rivendell in a week's time."

"That fast?" I said, alarmed. "Walking? My legs aren't as long as yours, you know."

Aragorn smiled. "No, fair one. We ride to Rivendell. I would not think of pressing you at such a fast pace on foot. Come," he said, and led me back into the woods. "We must move away from this place. Then we will make camp for the night."

So I went with him. This, after all, had been part of Gandalf's instructions.

It was after dusk now. We walked past lots of dead orc bodies, and I realized why we were moving. Yuk.

Wait...did I just say yuk? I thought. I _never_ say yuk.

Too girly.

"You have much skill with a blade," Aragorn said, breaking my train of thought. "I wonder what you are capable of with the bow you carry." I could tell he was trying to make small talk. Small talk wasn't something I usually did, but he had picked the right topic.

"Thank you," I said. "I put a lot of practice into my craft. I'm actually a bit famous for that, in my world. Archery and swordsmanship, I mean."

"Then it is well deserved," he said, and I felt a tingle of pride in my chest.

Oh, yeah. Validated! Take that, mom and dad.

"Please, won't you tell me of your home?"

I jumped a little. "Oh. Okay." I hesitated a second, before deciding not to actually talk about my family. That was a whole mess of ugly I didn't want to get into. "For starters, my skills aren't something a lot of people in my world have anymore," I explained. "Most weapons are much more deadly, and mechanized. I live in an age of industrialism and industry. We are polluting the world we live in; many plants and animals have become extinct through our carelessness."

"Similar evil festers in Middle Earth even now," Aragorn said grimly. "Are there no elves in your world, to stop this?"

"No," I said quietly, squinting as I felt the dark getting in my eyes. "There are no elves. I doubt there have been for many thousands of years. Only men remain, and they do not appreciate the beauty of nature as they should."

"They?" Aragorn repeated. I could see his sideways look, even in the thickening dusk and tree cover. "You are human." He paused. "You do not feel yourself a part of that society."

Wow, insight much?

"No." I sighed, and scowled. "I am alone there." I paused before adding, "That is why I do not regret my being brought here. Here, I have a chance to belong. I have not had that in my own world."

"Most things noble have died out," Aragorn said ruefully. "But there is always hope."

I laughed at this. "_Estel_," I said, recalling the elvish word for hope.

Aragorn whipped around to face me. "What did you say?"

"_Estel_," I repeated, then laughed again. "Sorry. I wasn't laughing at the idea of hope, I just forgot that was your name too."

"You speak elvish?" He asked, surprised. "And once again,you know much that cannot be accounted for, my lady. No one outside of Rivendell knows me by that name."

"No. Well, a little...and that's another thing I can't explain to you."

With a nod of understanding, Aragorn led me further into the wood. "All will be revealed, when we reach the house of Elrond," he said. "Doubtless you have many questions...already some are in my mind as well." And he fell into a thoughtful silence.

At this point, I did a spectacular face plant into the dirt. Oh yeah, go MJ. Classy.

Aragorn was there in an instant, helping me up. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, sure. I wanted to take a closer look at the ground...see if there were any bunny trails..." I knew I was blushing. Shit.

Aragorn was unconvinced, and just flat out knew better. "Oh really?"

"Damn you," I said irritably.

"To where?" He was smirking at me.

"Oh shut up," I said, trying to push past him in the dark, and stumbling again. He caught me, and pulled me upright—bringing me a little closer than he needed to.

"Where did that warrior I saw earlier go?" Aragorn asked mischievously. "Now I only see a lovely woman blushing like a new bride, and tripping over her own two feet."

"There was a tree root there," I insisted, "and I don't think you can see any more than I can in this light. I am normally light on my feet, even in the dark. I even snuck up on a deer once, and pet it before it ran off."

"I see." He took my hand in a way that was almost a 'may I?' "I'd hate to see you fall again."

"I can handle it." I looked at his hand cautiously. "And better not...like I said, Arwen—"

With a roll of his eyes, Aragorn tightened his grasp on my hand—but this wasn't like Gandalf's grasp either. It was firm, but gentle. And very warm. "Lady Arwen is like a sister to me. The only established relationship you would be disturbing would be one of friendship...and doing something so simple as taking my hand to avoid stumbling is not capable of breaking such a bond."

"Oh." I was shocked for a second, before I muttered, "Hear the fan girls go wild, while I'm roasted by the purists." But it was so dark...oh how I wished for my Maglite. "Well, lead on then. The blind leading the blind. Fabulous."

I didn't say more. So far, Gandalf had dropped me in Middle Earth, Aragorn and Arwen weren't an item, and I was somehow important.

Someone was _seriously_ fucking with Tolkien's world, alright.

And I was a part of it.

* * *

**Sneak Peek: **

_Chapter 3: In Which I Impress A Ranger, and Age Eighty+ Years, and Fall Prey to a Curse_

_Now, at the risk of sounding arrogant, I am very good at camping. It's all those solitary trips into the National Forest, I swear. I can build a fire out of anything. I can hunt my own dinner (yes, killing animals is very different from killing a person.) I can find potable water, and eatable plants without eating something that will kill me. And I know how and where to sleep to not be eaten by wild animals (or orcs.)_

_So when I heard we were camping in the forests, I was actually pretty thrilled. I was eager to prove my worth in this world, and I was in my forte in the great outdoors._

**Please oh please take the time to review! I can be nonchalant about them, but they really do mean the world to me (: I will post Chapter 3 AS SOON AS I get 5 reviews. Even if get them tonight, I'll post it! It's already written...yes, I'm bribing you guys. Sorry.  
**

**Le hannon (Thank you)!**


	4. Chapter 3

**Hello again, you awesome people I am lucky to call 'my readers'! **

**Sorry I couldn't post this yesterday, I was out buying a car. I feel like a total ass. My apologies. **

** Anyway, here we are now. I can't believe I got 7 reviews. I ask for 5, and you guys give me 7. I am one lucky bastard. ;)**

**So here are the warnings for this chapter, okay?**

**¡WARNING!**

**THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS: USM's (Unidentified Sue Moments), ODD DREAMS, AN ODD RANGER, SINDARIN, AND ONE UNWARRENTED, UNCANON AND PRETTY INTENSE ROMANCE SCENE. THE SUEMANCE HAS BEGUN! **

**THIS CHAPTER IS FOR ****_HeartMitternacht3654, kayli42, LivLoveLaughForever (_****My first reviewer, you will go down in history :), ****_BooDude_****, ****_aalc95,_**** and one****_ Guest. _****In future, I will dedicate each chapter to the reviewers of the previous chapter.**

**I have spoken. On with the chapter. **

**Hope you guys like it.**

* * *

Chapter 3

In Which I Have a Dream, Age Eighty+ Years, and Fall Prey to a Curse

. . .

**_Last Chapter:_**

_"Come," Aragorn said, and led me back into the woods. "We must move away from this place. Then we will make camp for the night."_

_Someone was seriously fucking with Tolkien's world, alright. _

_And I was a part of it. _

_. . ._

Now, at the risk of sounding arrogant, I am _very _good at camping. It's all those solitary trips into the National Forest, I swear. I can build a fire out of anything. I can hunt my own dinner (yes, killing animals is _very_ different from killing a person.) I can find potable water, and eatable plants without eating something that will kill me. And I know how and where to sleep to not be eaten by wild animals (or orcs.)

So when I heard we were camping in the forests, I was actually pretty thrilled. I was eager to prove my worth in this world, and I was in my forte in the great outdoors.

We had gone a good thirty minutes into the brush when he left me in a clearing to go and find the horse. "He ran off when I was attacked," he explained, "but he will not have gone far. Do not worry, I won't be gone long."

I wondered why he thought he needed to explain this. It was almost as if he thought I would be frightened in the woods at night by myself. "This is far from my first night in the wild," I replied. "and normally, I have no company other than myself. I will not _worry."_

Aragorn nodded, almost with an air of embarrassment. "Right. I should have known." And after an awkward silence, he wandered off the way we'd come.

And I'd thought I was uncomfortable around people. Compared to him I looked like a social butterfly.

Looking around the clearing, I realized I was in the same clearing I had woken up in with Gandalf.

Then, I realized I had missed something before I'd run off, and boy was I glad I had found it now.

It was my pack.

"Oh joy of joys!" I literally yelled (yes, I say weird stuff. Go with it, otherwise this story is going to be a MAJOR headache for you... although I'm pretty sure that if you've read this far, you've already got one.) I ran up to it and flopped down on my knees, ripping zippers open to survey at the bags contents.

What I found excited me: someone had packed my bag very thoughtfully with my tinder box (and, oddly, a hand lighter), canteen (already filled),an open lipped thermos (regrettably empty), a can of bug repellant, my First Aid kit (complete with splints, cold packs, hot packs and Ace bandages), my Maglite, hunting knife, and Swiss Army knife; sixty yards of soft black nylon rope, complete with rappelling clips, and strapped onto the outside? My sleeping roll, and a twelve by twelve tarp.

I was immensely pleased. Who wouldn't be? I'd really lucked out, I realized. Gandalf didn't have to do this for me. But for some reason, he had, and I was thankful beyond words.

I was also thankful that he wasn't there, so I didn't have to come up with any thankful outpourings.

With these tools, and a load of spare time on my hands, I decided to impress Aragorn with what I could get accomplished in his absence. Within a matter of minutes I had cleared a safe fire-pit, started said fire, and using my flashlight, went scavenging for roots and berries.

I did quite well, thank you for asking.

I put the roots to cook in the ashes around the rim of the fire (still blazing), and washed the berries with water from my canteen. It was at this point, watching the water splash onto the leaves on the ground that I realized it was fall here, and there shouldn't even _be _berries around. Especially not blueberries.

Odd.

I then placed the clean berries into the thermos, and went back to the pack. I decided that I didn't need to pitch a tent, since Aragorn, Ranger that he was, wouldn't need it and I didn't sleep in a tent either. So I packed the rest of the gear back up and decided to scout out my sleeping spot.

I climbed several trees before settling on a birch tree that had a bit of a nook between two branches. I could sit there and blend right in, no one would see me.

I decided to stay up there and wait for Aragorn. Call it a surprise. I let my hair out, and leaned back against the cool, smooth bark of the tree.

And I waited.

After what seemed like _ages_, I heard a rustling in the bushes , and a snort. Like, a horse snort. I quickly set about re-braiding my hair, then watched and waited.

Aragorn stepped first into the light, cautiously. He was obviously wondering how the hell I'd built a fire, kneeling around the rim of stones in confusion.

Score: Marilyn, 1; Aragorn, 0.

Then he looked up and called softly, "Marilyn?" My skin prickled. Valardamn the voice of that Ranger!

I let him finish searching the area for me. He found my pack, but thankfully he had good enough sense not to open it, recognizing it as mine.

Then, things got good.

I could tell he was starting to freak out a bit. I was freaking him out! I could hardly believe it myself.

Aragorn started pacing around the inside of the ring of trees, cupping his hands to his mouth and yelling, "Marilyn! Marilyn!"

I shook my head, and tried hard not to laugh aloud at him. I didn't want to blow my cover.

Oh, how I wished for a camera.

Finally, he stopped bellowing. "_Amman ledhiach?" _he muttered, his eyes widening in something like realization. He really thought I'd left. This was priceless.

He was about to swing up onto the horse and ride off 'after me', when I decided the gig was up.

"Good grief," I said, and his head whipped in my direction. I dropped out of the tree and into a crouch. "Every orc from here to Mordor will hear you."

"Marilyn," Aragorn said again, but this time the relief was obvious in his tone. His shoulders relaxed, and he strode (yes, strode) across the clearing. "I was worried something had carried you off while I was away."

"Oh please," I said. "Did you not see me chopping orc butt earlier? I'd like to see them take me." I rose, and brushed the leaves off of myself. Sitting in a tree can be a bit messy. "So, what do you think of my camp, hmm?"

"I did not expect you to make camp," Aragorn admitted, his eyes sparkling. "But you have done well." He set a hand on my shoulder. "More than anything, I am glad to see you are in one piece. Lord Elrond would never forgive me if I failed to lead you to Rivendell safely."

"And why is that?" I asked, now frowning. I knew why I needed to get there, but why would Elrond want me in Rivendell?

"Again, not my place," he said with a slight shrug, and let his hand fall. His face grew oddly tense. "I must unsaddle the horse." And he walked off.

Dude, this guys was bipolar or something. Happy one minute, pensive the next. Emotional roller coaster, for sure.

* * *

The next few days were a kind of blur. After my prank the night before Aragorn seemed anxious to get to Rivendell in a hurry. and he kept doing this thing, where, in the middle of a conversation, I would catch him looking at me with that strange, tense look on his face. It reminded me of a child who is trying really hard not to grab something they want, when they have been told to leave it alone. I didn't like that analogy, AT ALL. Nor the conclusions you could draw from it.

So I kept my distance, despite wishing we were less awkward. It felt like he was straining against some kind of invisible barrier, and I didn't want to screw anything else up .My being in Middle Earth was enough, without my messing with Aragorn's mind.

Any more than I could control, anyway. Because though I didn't know it, there were things bigger than me at play, and I had no control over when they would lose patience with me.

We rode long days, and slept short nights. I was kind of disappointed there weren't more orcs to 'dispose of', but Aragorn merely told me, "Orcs do not venture this close to the home of Elrond Halfelven," so I guessed that was that, and made the best of it.

Finally, on our last night out in the open, something happened. But it wasn't quite what I'd hoped.

Aragorn had gone off to water the pony in a nearby stream. I had climbed up another tree, this one an oak, to feel out a sleeping spot. Aragorn had been surprised by it, but hadn't stopped me. In fact, he'd called it "a wise practice."

Yup. Because we all know I'm _super_ wise.

It's just good sense, man. And a touch of _The Hunger Games. _

But while I was sitting there, I fell asleep.

Yeah, I know. Not again.

This time, I dreamed. I was standing atop a high tower, and looking out over an enormous circular courtyard with paths like the spokes of a wagon wheel. After a moment I recognized it: this was Isengard, and I was standing on the roof of Orthanc. I turned, and there was a door in one of the tower's large pinnacles. It was open, and a light was shining out of it, so I went in.

A long spiral staircase wound doon, down, down, into the darkness. Where had the light come from then? A doorway at the very bottom. I went down the stairs, and into the room. It was a study, and there, on the desk, amidst piles of manuscripts and books, was...

My copy of _The Lord of the Rings. _

Leather bound. One volume deluxe edition. I checked the inside cover to be sure.

_Property of MJ Comett. Do not steal on pain of a horrific death. _

It was mine alright.

A door to my left opened. It was Saruman! He didn't seem to see me. I wanted to rip him a new one, knowing what he was already planning and all. But then, Gandalf strode in behind him.

"The White Council has imprisoned one of its own members in his home, on the account of a wizard who has seen a 'plot' in the mind of a girl from another world?!" Saruman was yelling. "A mere human?!" He was speaking of me, I realized. Gandalf had seen his cunning when reading my mind (reshudder), and stopped him before he could build an army for Sauron. This was good!...right?

"We found the Palantir, Saruman; and that alone was proof enough of your intentions," said Gandalf, sending a wink my way when Saruman's back was turned. So he_ could_ see me! I smiled, and mouthed, "Thank you," thinking of the pack with an abundance of gratitude. He chuckled at me and waved me off.

"You find this _funny?!_" Saruman roared, spinning on him. This temper tantrum was reminding me of my mother after my father had blocked her credit cards. "The word of a _child_ from another world being taken more seriously than that of the High wizard?"

"She is no child," Gandalf corrected sternly. "She has the blood of Númenor in her veins, and the Dúnedain are slow to age; nor does the Fallen Star decay as other daughters of men. She is in appearance only 17, but her true age totals upward of ninety—ninety six, to be exact."

I couldn't stop my jaw from dropping. I was _born_ in ninety six— nineteen ninety six! And now I was Dúnedain? Númenorian? And ninety six freaking years old?! Are you shitting me?

How? I thought.

"Impossible," Saruman breathed, his eyes widening. " It cannot be." He sucked air, then said more loudly, "The blood of that line is spent. That was the reason for her departure from our reality, was it not? Shame, and dishonor."

My stomach twinged in irritation, and I opened my mouth to speak. Not for the first time, Gandalf gave me a look when Saruman was glaring out a window. _Do not speak, or he will know you are present in spirit,_ he said in my mind. _This is no mere dream, Marilyn. You are here with me in the chambers of Orthanc. _

Wow. Mental teleporting. Cool, or what? I knew I wasn't normal, but sheesh.

So I kept quiet, and let Gandalf do the talking, which, as we all know, is usually the best thing to do anyway. I may be determined, but I'm not stupid. "Mariel left Middle Earth to avoid marriage to Isildur. As the wearer of the Pendant she knew of the evil dwelling in his heart, and chained around his neck. She would not let her power fall subject to the will of the Dark Lord, even through her betrothed. She departed to spare the lives of the ones she loved."

I jumped. Mariel? Not _my _Mariel...not...

_Your Grandmother,_ Gandalf told me. In my mind. Again.

Oh. My. God.

My Grandmother was supposed to marry Isildur? As in, Aragorn's great umpteenth grandfather?

_Yes,_ came the reply. _And she did the right thing by leaving. A difficult choice, but a noble and necessary one. _

WHAT THE F—

"Then the Deep Magic stirs again," Saruman muttered, angrily stroking his beard. "How could this come to pass? It needs a vector, one to bear the physical burden of such an endeavor as the recalling of a soul to our dimension. Who in our order would have had the strength to..." He froze as the realization hit him. He whirled to face a very calm Gandalf, while he himself quaked with rage. "You...you did this."

"I allowed the Magic to use me as the energy source, yes," said Gandalf simply. "And now the forces of good have a most powerful weapon in our midst...as well as a lovely young woman." He smiled at me. I smiled back. I was liking him so much right then. First the pack, now compliments? Unreal.

"She is not of any help to anyone; the curse ensures it," the hostile wizard said. "Soon the prophesy will drive Isildur's heir to madness, and she will reject him; as Mariel rejected Isildur! She does not know how to harness The power of the Fallen Star, to be of any use to..." Saruman caught Gandalf still smiling at me, and his eyes flew in my direction.

I could have sworn he was staring right at me.

"Oh shit," I accidentally whispered aloud. And then I _knew_ he could see me.

"Depart, outcast of the realm of Gondor!" Saruman hissed at me. "You are not welcome here!" He thrust a hand towards me; and before Gandalf could stop him I felt a pain on my forehead, and everything went black.

* * *

I woke up with a start. It was still night; I was still in my tree. But I could hear Aragorn's voice calling frantically for me, over and over. I looked down, and he was looking pretty upset. "Where has she gone this time?" he muttered to himself.

"Up a tree, just like last time," I called, and slid out of the tree. But I was terribly dizzy, and slipped and fell at its roots.

Aragorn came over to help me up (again, dammit) and had me halfway up when he froze.

My hand went to my sword. "What is it?"

"Your hair," he said, and I flinched. It was still hanging down my back. Oh shit. I hated people seeing my hair down. Ever.

But he seemed entranced by it. "It is so lovely," he murmured, and became coming towards me, wide eyed.

"Dammit." I rose to my feet, but then blacked out and lost my balance.

Aragorn caught me by the elbow before I could fall. When my regained my vision, I found his eyes fixed on me, his free hand hesitating in the air above my hair. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip and cocked his head, eyes almost hungry.

I was glad that I was hiding behind my bangs, because I couldn't bring myself to look away.

"You are injured," he said finally, brushing my bangs out of my eyes gently. His fingertips brushed the skin of my forehead and I felt an odd thrill run through me: an electric chill. But his eyes had returned to their normal gentleness, that hungry light gone. I was almost disappointed. Almost. "How did this happen?"

"I dreamed," I said. "Saruman did something..." He lightly touched a place on my forehead, and a searing pain hit me. "OW!" I cried, swatting his hand away. "Fuck! What are you _doing, _poking it? God, that hurts!"

"You have a two inch gash on your forehead," he said, although he seemed a bit offended by my recoil...or maybe my swearing. "It needs tending. Come by the fire and I will clean it."

I felt bad about swearing at him, so I allowed him to take my hand and lead me towards the fire. I took off my cloak and laid it on the ground to sit cross legged on it as Aragorn went and retrieved a saddlebag. He was muttering to himself under his breath. "Fool...keep control of yourself," I heard him say (my hearing is better than most.)

I frowned.

He then walked back and sat down opposite me, that tense look all over his face. With a great deal of concentration (MUCH more than the job needed,) he took out what a water-skin and a dry cloth from the bag. He wet one corner of the cloth, and used it to dab gingerly at my wound.

I was silent for once, trying not to make any jokes about what had just gone on between us.

That, and biting my tongue through the pain. That gash was a bitch, I tell you.

Aragorn finally broke the silence. "What did you dream of?" he asked quietly.

So I told him.

Everything.

About my grandmother being Isildur's betrothed, her escape, my return; all of it. Or at least, what little I knew of it.

I left out the part about Isildur and my grandmother being engaged, or the 'curse' Saruman had spoken of. Details that I didn't want to get into.

When I had finished, he was sitting before me, a shocked expression on his face, the cloth still in one hand.

"Are...you okay?" I asked carefully. He looked completely speechless.

"Y-you are Mariel's heir?" Aragorn said in an odd tone.

"Yeah, I guess so...I'm her granddaughter," I said, wondering if I should slap him or something to startle him out of his mood. "Also, I'm apparently ninety six years old, which makes me nine years older than you, even. Maybe even older than dinosaurs...though, I don't know if they ever had those here at all."

This seemed to frightened him; and that was about the weirdest thing ever, seeing Aragorn frightened. He opened his to say something, then stopped, paused, and did the most unexpected thing I could have imagined: in one swift movement he dropped the cloth, rushed forward, and kissed the daylights out of me.

I know, I know. Calm down, fan girls.

I would have struggled, broken free, and beat the living crap out of him for that, but remember that electric chill that had flashed through me before? Yeah; now it was swallowing me whole. It felt like I was made of a thousand tiny bolts of energy, and I was completely paralyzed by it. Also, by the fact that my dreamboat Ranger was tonguing me to death, his very proximity leaning me backward and down onto my cloak. I felt my hair pooling around my head as it hit the ground, just for a moment, before he slipped his arm around my body and caught me, pulling me up towards him and driving his fingers into my hair. My hands that had trained with weapons for years had no help to offer me in this moment: crushed against his chest, helpless. I could feel his heart beat racing against my palm, rhythmic, soothing.

It would have been bliss...if I hadn't been wondering if it was completely wrong.

Which, of course, I knew it was. If Tolkien hadn't written it, it was _wrong_. Aragorn ought to be snogging with Arwen, not me.

All the same, against my wishes I was powerless to pull away. It wasn't him; something else was rendering me immobile...

Therefore I was glad when he finally did draw back, the cold breeze hitting my swollen lips like a slap; yet I gasped for the air.

Aragorn kept staring at me, his pupils blown out until only the faintest sliver of blue remained ; a look of complete madness in his eyes. He too was breathing hard, his breath warm against my face, sending a dull ache through my wound. He pressed his forehead to my own (luckily, _not_ on my gash) and began to whisper words I did not understand. "Marilyn_," _he breathed, closing his eyes. "_Nae, melda heri; guren min gaim lín. __Mae tollen na mar, mell nín 'Dannen GÎl'.Glass nín le-gen govaded, na vedui!"_And he crashed his mouth onto mine again.

Now, I really have no explanation, even now, for what happened next. The only thing I can guess is that my ancestors, or perhaps just my grandmother's spirit, was royally pissed (pun)at Isildur's heir for romancing me so aggressively, because at the time I did not speak elvish.

Yet that is just what came out of my mouth in that moment. As if something else was speaking, my lips curled away from his. "Û_," _I snarled, feeling tears burning. Aragorn pulled away slightly, enough to look in my eyes. _"Gen û-velin, lýgion! Man carnet? NÎn guwerrianneg, Isildur. Leitho nin,_ _sí! Nin gûr garo û aníra an gelir meleth, ulunn!"_

Whatever I'd said, it struck home hard. Aragorn immediately pulled away from me as though I were on fire, and stared at me with a horrified expression.

I took this chance to rise as quickly as possible, given my jittery state, and ran towards my tree, snagging my pack on the way.

"_Dartho!"_ The word stopped me in my tracks. I turned to see him standing with tears in his eyes. "_Goheno nin, iesten. Estelion allen. Iesten, estelio enni."_

I shook my head, and stepped back. "_Avon. Gelir peth saew."_

As I climbed up the tree, I caught sight of him putting his hands to his head. I could see the tears on his cheeks, and I was so, so confused. Why had he kissed me? What had he said? What had _I said back? _It was clearly hurting him.

But I didn't know what else to do.

WHAT THE FUCK WAS HAPPENING TO ME? I wanted to fight, not make out! Shit!

I shouldn't have tried so hard to impress him.

Aragorn didn't sleep that night. He wandered off towards the river. I didn't leave my tree, either. And since there was no way in hell I could sleep, I watched, and knew that he didn't come back at all that night.

I didn't stick around to see if he would. That next morning, I had never been so happy to get away from someone as I was from Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Because that morning, I stole the horse, and made for Rivendell on my own.

I had an excellent reason. Gandalf couldn't have known Aragorn would french me.

Right?

* * *

**_Translation:_**

_A: (Earlier) Amman ledhiach? (Where are you going?)_

_A: Marilyn. Alas, beloved lady; my heart is in your hands. Welcome home, my beloved 'Fallen Star'. It is my joy to meet you , at last!_

_M: No, I hate you, son of snakes! What did you do? You betrayed me, Isildur. Release me, now! My heart holds no desire for your love, monster! _

_A: Wait! Forgive me, please. I trust in you. Please, trust me. _

_M: I will not. Your words are poison._

**I did my best with the Sindarin; so please, don't be mad if something was translated incorrectly.**

**Wow, that was...**

**...uncanon. And cliche. The Magic is trying to Sue Marilyn...though not in a conventional sense. What will she tell Lord Elrond?**

**Reviews shall set the next chapter free (:  
**


	5. Chapter 4

**Ey oh! So again, what a response! You guys...I'm not WORTHY! *sob*9 reviews!**

**Okay, okay. Drama fest over. Now: for the important part:**

**¡WARNING!**

**THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS: MORE USM's(Unidentified Sue Moments), MENTAL SWEARING, VERBAL SWEARING, SINDARIN (yes, AGAIN), LONG WINDED STORIES TOLD BY LORD ELROND, A CLICHÉ ROMANCE, MORE MENTAL SWEARING, MORE VERBAL SWEARING, A SUEDOWN (Sue Breakdown), AND HORRIFYING MENTAL DEATH SCENES. THEN: HUGGING.**

**ALSO: SORRY FOR ANY MISTAKES THIS CHAPTER HAS, I AM IN A HURRY BECAUSE MY FRIEND IS IN THE HOSPITAL TODAY AND I DIDN'T HAVE TIME TO READ THIS OVER A BAJILLION TIMES.**

**YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.**

**Now! This chapter is dedicated to: ****_StormwalkerofLorien, StormwalkerofLorien (_****yes, twice; no mistake. Two reviews gets you two dedications. It's only fair), ****_LivLoveLaughForever (_****my first EVER reviewer, you rock! And thank you SO MUCH! I get to be on your RECS?! Day made :), ****_BooDude, Hellokitty92398, SakuraPheonix13 (Oh. My. LORD! You're comment made my day...'Swordship' is indeed very accurate! And I had been trying to come up with a ship name for them all day that day... AraMari, the BEST! I hereby challenge the other readers to come up with something better...I don't think it can be done, personally ;), kayli42, SilverMoonrise (whose story, _****Where Evil Lies Hidden, ****_ I have been diligently following for some time now...AWESOMENESS, CHECK IT OUT), _****and ****_laststandof221bluebox (_****who is also following my other story, ****_The Hobbits: A Journey of Consequence. _****Thank you!)**

**Okay, that's all.**

**Whew. That was a mouthful. Or a keyboardful. Or a paragraphful...oh, screw it. **

**Chapter: onward!**

* * *

Chapter 4

In Which I Arrive In Rivendell and Learn Much (That I Wished I Hadn't)

**Last Chapter: **

**. . .**

_Aragorn didn't sleep that night. He wandered off towards the river. I didn't leave my tree, either. And since there was no way in hell I could sleep, I watched, and knew that he didn't come back at all that night._

_I didn't stick around to see if he would. That next morning, I had never been so happy to get away from someone as I was from Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Because that morning, I stole the horse, and made for Rivendell on my own._

_I had an excellent reason. Gandalf couldn't have known Aragorn would french me. _

_Right?_

**. . .**

I was right in assuming the road to Rivendell wasn't hard to find. It wasn't a road, per say; merely a track through the woods. But it was well travelled, and this wasn't my first rodeo, so...

I wasn't lost, in one way at least.

Because the fact was, I was lost in thought most of the ride.

Quite without my consent (or design), my mind kept flying back to the night before.

Now, let me make something very clear. I am not big on romance. Sure, it's good and fine for other people, but as far as I'm concerned, it's never been anything but drama. And we all know that I am _not_ a drama queen.

But I couldn't stop thinking of the way Aragorn had made me feel.

I couldn't unfeel his kiss. I couldn't unfeel his fingers in my hair. I couldn't unfeel the physical weight his eyes had had on me, and the burning sensation in my chest his wild gaze had caused.

It was...strange. And not altogether unpleasant. In fact it had been the type of kiss that fan girls drooled over; and even I had been a bit taken with him, in the moment. Sure, the sun hadn't exploded and the moon gone out from the sheer intensity of it, because that was simply poetic BS; but short of that...it had been pretty close. And this was me admitting this.

It hadn't been my first kiss. I wasn't ugly, or sheltered, so yes, I had had a few lip-locks before; but nothing like this. This made my mouth dry at the thought of it, my eyes glass over and my stomach churn with anger at myself, for whatever I'd said to him. I had so obviously hurt him deeply, and somewhere in my gut I knew that he was the only one who could kiss me like that. Now, I would never have the chance for another of those mind melting kisses...

Tolkien would have my head for this, and I couldn't seem to help myself. At least I could dream, right?

Hey...why the _hell _would I want to dream of Aragorn?!

Oh god, did I need to talk to Elrond. Serious shit was happening to my mind.

"Fuckety fuckety fuck," I was muttering, just as I realized I had ridden through the arched entry of Imladris. "Oh. Fuck. I'm here."

So I stopped swearing. I figured it was one thing to be in the Wild swearing at a Ranger, and another to be in the Last Homely House.

A dark haired person came up to me. "Mae govannen, Dannen GÎl!" he greeted me.

I noticed he had called me the same thing Aragorn had, and made a mental note to ask Elrond about it. "Umm..." I began, when, once again, my mouth took over. "Suilad, hiril nÎn! Man i eneth lín?"

"Im Lindir, brennel nín," said Lindir. Oh. Duh. I should have recognized him. Stupid me.

He looked around the courtyard expectantly. "Mas hiril nÎn Aragorn?" he asked me, then saw my expression. "Prestad?"

I frowned, but nodded, and slid off the horse. "I rhach prestannen Aragorn. Le norolim."

Lindir's eyes widened. "Aphado nÎn," he said urgently, and I handed the horse off to an attendant.

Lindir hurried me into the beautiful buildings, and I got the feeling he was leading me to Elrond.

I was right. Elrond was having lunch with his courtiers; and when Lindir burst in, he asked, "Lindir? Man—"

Then his eyes fell on me, and he abruptly rose from his chair. The other elves seemed worried by this. "Ada?" said a woman's voice.

Oh. Shit.

It was Arwen.

I felt shame wash over me in a hot wave. The things I had been thinking that morning...

And what had happened the night before...I had to tell Elrond. And no doubt she would find out.

Arwen rose too. "Mas gwador Estel?" Her eyes were fearful, as she looked behind both me and Lindir. She was looking for him. For Aragorn.

Elrond gave her a look that said, "later.' Reluctantly, Arwen sat back down, still looking very worried.

Turning to me, the lord of Rivendell placed one hand on his chest, and bowed slightly. The other elves gasped, but he appeared unruffled. "Mae athollen, Dannel GÎl."

I bowed my head respectfully. "Hiril nÎn Elrond. Glass nín le govaded."

Elrond nodded to those at the table, and came over to Lindir and I. "Come," he said in English. "We have much to speak of, and my heart tells me all has not gone as well as we had hoped."

But as we left, I saw Arwen watching me with wary, angry eyes.

Well, marvelous. But no less than I had expected.

Elrond led me out and down the hall to his study. Once we were inside, Lindir left.

Holy crap. I was alone with Elrond.

Pressure, much?

"Tell me," Elrond said, walking over to a table. "How close were you to Rivendell when his resolve snapped?"

What the F...

He knew. He already knew.

"Not but three hours ride, my lord," I said cautiously.

"Then he will be here by nightfall." He walked back over to me, and stared me right in the eyes, hard. Saying nothing.

It was really hard not to flinch, or look away. Or run away, like I wanted to.

"You rejected him," Elrond said, sounding relieved. He visibly brightened, and he looked at me with a glint in his eye. "Mariel's strength lives on in you, Marilyn, daughter of Nathaniel." He smiled. "Come. You must have many questions."

Elrond led me to a set of chairs, and sat down. "Take a seat," he said, gesturing to the other chair; and I couldn't help but think that he looked like a psychiatrist. But I could have used one, so I shut up and just sat down.

"I know you have much to ask," he began, "But first I must ask questions of you. Tell me everything of your time in Middle Earth, so far."

Goody. This would be _loads_ of fun.

I proceeded to tell him everything, leaving no detail unnoted—except, large chunks of swear words. Those I sort of left out. Also, I recapped my life _before_ Middle Earth, as well as telling him about _The Lord of the Rings._

What? Gandalf knew; and I figured if Elrond was to explain the 'new' Middle Earth he should know what parts to leave out for redundancy's sake.

Lord Elrond was very surprised at my story, especially the part about my dream with Gandalf and Saruman. The part about Aragorn's madness I sort of blurted out, since I didn't want to look as though I were putting too much effort into my words, nor that I was too affected by it, either. Also, he was Arwen's dad; and, well you know...

Awkward.

Finally, he was satisfied. " I think many of your questions can be answered if I give you a narrative of your history in Middle Earth," he said. "Or rather, the history of your grandmother. I know that you know of the history of the Ring, therefore I will not waste time retelling it. Then, I will answer as many of your remaining questions as I am able. Would that be satisfactory?"

I nodded mutely. I was still in shock that, valardammit, he _knew!_

"Very well." I leaned back in my chair and prepared to listen. "Your grandmother, in this world, was the Lady Mariel of Gondor. She was a woman of high renown, being of high birth, and a skilled warrior; but more than this, she was an elf-friend.

"Her story began here in Rivendell. She was born here, over two thousand years ago. Gil-galad himself took a liking to the human child, and raised her after her parents were killed by servants of the Enemy." There was a definite capital E there. So Elrond could do it too. Huh. "He gave her the Pendant; the same pendant you wear: the Shooting Star."

I looked down at my necklace. Oh. That made sense. Gil-galad...the Pendant...stars...yup.

"It's gem is a shard of one of the Silmarillions; the same as that of the Evenstar, and Nenya, the ring of power worn by Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien." He gave me a serious look. "It holds much power, both to protect and destroy. That is why she became such a skilled warrior. By the time she was twenty seven, Mariel could take on any man, orc, or beast short of Sauron himself. And that was why Sauron wanted her."

Wait...what?

"From the day of her conception, she had been promised to Isildur. But she was not told of this bond. So when she travelled to Gondor for the first time, she knew not that she was betrothed already to the man she fell in love with."

Oh, joy. Cue the love saga.

"Mariel and Isildur fell in love in the forests as strangers; and both believed that they could not be together. Neither told the other of their true status, but did agree that the match would be impossible—especially when they both learned of their separate betrothals. It nearly broke Mariel; she fell so ill that for a time not even the healing of the elves could cure her of it.

"When she finally recovered, she asked to be married as soon as possible. No one could understand this, as war was upon us and she had always expressed a wish to fight against the power of Mordor directly. But I knew what they did not. She and I had become good friends over the years, fighting and living alongside one another. She told me that if she was not married quickly, the temptation to break her betrothal would be too great for her, and she did not want to shame the line of her fathers with such an act.

"She was taken to Gondor, and housed in the palace of Minas Tirith. For many nights Isildur was too busy helping his father Elendil prepare for war; but one night, Mariel went walking in the garden, and he found her there. They had thought they would never meet again; but there they were. Isildur couldn't bear to keep the truth from her anymore, and it was then that Mariel realized: this _was_ her betrothed.

Their joy was immeasurable. And for the first time in many years, it seemed something was going right.

"With renewed strength, Mariel decided to join in the battle for Middle Earth. Isildur went to war apprehensively, but also with much hope; for the dream he had given up for lost had become a reality, and it seemed that anything was possible.

"But they were both deceived. Sauron craved the power of the Shooting Star, and sought to draw in Mariel, through any means necessary.

"All seemed hopeful, until Elendil fell. Gil-galad fell also, and in the space of a moment, both Mariel and Isildur had lost those they called father. Then in desperation, Isildur took up the hilt-shard of Narsil, his father's sword, and cut the Ring from Sauron's hand.

In this act, Sauron's mortal form was defeated, but his spirit did not dissipate. It bound itself to the Ring, and through Isildur he meant to gain access to Mariel's power.

We urged him to destroy the Ring. Mariel, Círdan, and I. But Isildur would not be convinced, not even by his beloved; the Ring's power was that great. He claimed it for himself, as recompense for the loss of his father, and named it an heirloom for his descendants.

Mariel was crushed.

"She knew in her heart that the Ring was utterly evil, and even guessed at its purpose. She kept trying to convince Isildur to give it up, but he would not. She knew what would happen. If she did not leave him, the Ring would take his mind; and she loved him too deeply to see that fate befall him. So one night, after they had returned to the White City, she stole out under the cover of night, and journeyed back to Rivendell.

"She stayed here for three weeks. On the eve of the twenty first day, she came to me, and told me that she was departing out of Middle Earth. At first, I thought she meant to take a boat into the West, but then she told me that she intended to leave our _reality._ The Deep Magic, she said, was calling her away. But one day, her heir would return; and that heir would reclaim her destiny."

"Me?" I said, noticing Elrond's expectant pause. "I'm here to reclaim my destiny? That's what Gandalf said."

"True...in part." Elrond shifted...it seemed to me, a bit uncomfortably. "Marilyn, Isildur and Mariel's betrothal was sealed by the Deep Magic. It was unfulfilled, since Mariel intended to remarry—obviously she did, since you're here—and she told me to relate how Isildur needed to remarry as well. He was heartbroken. I have never seen a man so inconsolable as Isildur was; and I have seen the fading of many of my kin." He spaced off a moment before continuing. "Eventually, he obeyed her order, and remarried another. In this way, his line continued. But his heart never truly loved anyone else. Fits of despair at the loss of Mariel would occasionally take him, and we would not eat or sleep for days on end. And I think that it was in one of those fits that he decided to follow the Anduin, rather than take the North-South road as good sense deemed he ought. In this way, his grief brought about his untimely death, and the loss of the One Ring. The rest, I'm sure you already know."

"I do," I agreed. "But Gandalf told me that some of it isn't true anymore. My being here has disturbed the storyline."

"Of the _future_ events," Elrond corrected. "Those are the only events your presence has sway over. The past has been changed by your grandmother, and that is not your fault in the least." He sighed. "Unfortunately, her problems have become your problems. I only hope that fate will be kinder to you."

"Wait...what do you mean by that?" I said, slipping back into a bit of my normal speak. "Are you saying Mariel's—I mean, my grandmother's —issues are now _my _deal?"

"Yes, and no," said Elrond ambiguously. "As you have seen, the Deep Magic is already affecting you, in ways you may not even realize. Your ability to speak elvish, for example. Do you speak elvish in your world?"

"No."

"Well, there you have it." Another sigh. "Also, there is the issue of Aragorn's madness."

My stomach dropped through the floor. Almost literally.

"Um...yeah. So, what's up with that?" I said, actually serious. For once.

_Another_ sigh. I was beginning to wonder if Elrond had asthma...impossible, though. Elves don't have health problems. "It is partly Mariel's doing, and partly the Deep Magic. You see, that was a promise that she made to Isildur when she left: that their love wouldn't be fruitless. One day, maybe not their children, or their children's children, but one day, their descendants would meet, fall in love, and fulfill the betrothal; reclaiming the future they should have had."

A dramatic pause.

And then I laughed.

Yeah, I'm like that.

Elrond raised an eyebrow. "You find this amusing?"

"Yeah," I said, breathlessly. "It's...just SO cliché. Cute, but cliché. Nice little fairy tale."

"You think this is just a story." It wasn't a question.

I shrugged. "Pretty much, yes. In my world, Arwen and Aragorn were in love. My grandmother wasn't involved at all, and I most definitely wasn't."

Lord Elrond frowned. "That would be...unfortunate. Arwen would have had to sacrifice her immortality."

"Yes. She did." I tried _SO_ hard not to smirk. "You weren't very happy about it."

"I should think not." Elrond shook his head. "Regardless of how 'cute' or 'cliché' you find this, and whatever happened in your world, _this_ is our reality. Your grandmother was very much real, and she passed you the Shooting Star—though, when she left, we began to call it the Fallen Star, or Dannen GÎl, because it's light had burned brightly, then disappeared entirely. Now, it has returned in the hands of a new bearer, and you must claim your place in this world."

"So..." I thought about what Elrond had said. My heartbeat sped up. "Basically, Isildur and Mariel were sworn to each other, and because they didn't end up together, that bond must be fulfilled by their descendants?"

"Yes," said Elrond.

"And...I'm Mariel's descendant. So that means..." Oh. Shit.

"You are, in essence, betrothed to Aragorn, Isildur's heir," Lord Elrond finished. "However, Sauron somehow learned of this promise, and, in an effort to stop that future from ever occurring, placed a counter-spell on the future couple. Mariel's descendant would reject Isildur's heir, tapping all of the hidden resentment felt by Mariel at Isildur's weakness for the Ring. But Isildur's heir would fall into the madness experienced by Isildur after her parting: a desperate, fierce longing fueled by a love that not even two thousand years could fade."

I wanted to laugh again, but found I couldn't . It was a really sweet concept, when you thought about it.

What the FUCK?! Where had that come from!?

"I don't believe it," I said. "It's too perfect to be real. And anyway, what if I don't _want_ to love Aragorn? He's a bit old for me."

"You are ninety six," Elrond said wryly. "I believe that you are actually older than him."

"Oh." Dammit, I'd forgotten about that.

"Also, your words betray you." That damn elf was smirking at me. "'It's too perfect?' I think Mariel, from the afterlife, is somehow influencing you."

I made an exasperated sound.

"The signs are there. Already, Aragorn has caved in to the need for you. You alone are resisting it."

"Am I? Good. Because it seems to me like I shouldn't even BE here." The conversation was taking a nasty turn, and I wanted out of it. I rose. "I didn't ask for this. I was fine in my world."

"So you're telling me you didn't feel more at home with Aragorn in the Wilderness, than at home in your parent's mansion?' He had a point. "The truth filtered through your narrative. You are attracted to him. The way you told of his break was enough: you weren't sorry he kissed you."

"Enough!" I put my hands to my head. "I know I wasn't going to swear here, but valardammit, man! I mean, elf! I mean, elf-man!"

"You are flustered," Elrond observed coolly.

"Yeah, no shit," I muttered.

He rose from his seat. "Marilyn, you are the Dannen GÎl now; the Fallen Star, whose love Aragorn has been bound to desire. The story I have told you has been told to him since his childhood. He knows what ails him. That is why he left you. He didn't want to hurt you, in his irrational state. He doesn't want to fall prey to the deceit of the Enemy. He worries of the weakness carried in his blood, from Isildur, and does not want to fail you in the same way as his forefather failed Mariel: to succumb to the will Of Sauron."

"Oh really? Because it sounded like I gave him an earful, in elvish. I figured, hmm, that's why he left."

"He could have scaled that tree if he wanted to. He could have stopped you before you had even risen," Elrond said firmly. "He let you go; and that in itself is a feat. Aragorn is a strong man; his resolve is normally all but unbreakable. Only one could bend his will in so short a time; and he was not oblivious to that—if your Pendant hadn't been enough."

"He never saw my pendant," I realized. "I only told him what Gandalf had called me, and he believed me at once." Elrond was right, and I knew it. I had known it all along that he wasn't lying; just as I had known Gandalf wasn't lying. I just didn't know what to do with it.

It did sound reminiscent of something Tolkien would write, but...

It wasn't canon.

It wasn't even movie canon.

In fact, this was such a radical diversion from the original plot that I was at a loss. Who knew how much would be changed by this? The entire story was changed, already.

"Then my point is made," Elrond said, satisfied. "Need I give you more examples, or are you quite finished stalling?"

Now it was _my_ turn to sigh. I scowled. "What do you expect me to do, anyway? You've got me over a barrel here. Obviously, from your facts, Aragorn and I are both being affected by this curse, and neither of us seem able to change. I mean, I for one can't just let myself fall in love with him."

"And why not?"

I sputtered in irritation. "Because I'm _NOT _a Mary-Sue!"

And then it hit me.

"Ohmygod," I said. "That's it. All the little things...the cloak, my hair, the berries...and the thoughts!"

Elrond looked at me, puzzled. I wasn't making much sense to anyone but myself.

And (hopefully) you too, my dear readers.

I looked up, angrily. "Sauron is using the curse to turn me into a Mary-Sue. I don't know why, but he is."

And a 'Mary-Sue' is, what exactly?" Elrond asked.

I explained. In detail.

"Oh." Elrond wore a disturbed look. I could hardly blame him. "No. It can't be Sauron. He _doesn't _want you two together; making you...emotional and overly feminine would not further his cause."

"Then what would?" I wondered in frustration. "I know it's sure as hell not me. I don't_ want_ to be a Mary-Sue. AT ALL. I want to fight, be sarcastic, and badass. I don't _want_ to change Tolkien's world, but I can't just walk away from it, either. And it's not even up to me, which sucks. It was up to my grandmother, and she isn't here to patch things up. _Joy."_ I snorted bitterly. "I don't _want _someone else's destiny. I want my own."

Elrond set his hand on my shoulder. "Then you must make your own."

I looked up, surprised. This wasn't what I had expected. I had thought he would try to convince me to give in to Aragorn's need for my love, but he didn't seem about to. Which was slightly disappointing. Which in turn was slightly annoying. "I will not urge you to accept Aragorn's love just yet. I deem it wiser to allow his love for you to grow, and for you to become more adjusted to the idea of it. Additionally, Sauron knows that should you two fall for each other, the Deep Magic will overrule his, and..." Elrond started. Actually started. Who thought I would ever live to see that? Super improbable. Like, a mammoth sighting was more likely. "That's it."

"What's it?"

"The Deep Magic." The lord of Rivendell looked at me intently. "The Deep Magic is what seeks to turn you into a Mary-Sue. Probably...as a means of convincing you to accept Aragorn's affections."

"Seriously?!" I cried. "That is _total_ bullshit! Magic, blackmailing me into getting the hots for Isildur's heir, so my dead grandma can keep her promise to a madman?" I snorted. "Fuck no!"

And then, readers, I am ashamed to admit: I burst into tears.

"W-what the hell is happening?" I sobbed. "Why am I crying? I don't _want_ to cry!" I fell into my chair and buried my face in my hands. "This is awful! My life is _over!_"

"I believe the Magic seeks your compliance,'' said Elrond, watching me with a patient expression. "Will you agree to _try_ to comply with Mariel's wishes? I think this is a foretaste of what will happen if you refuse."

"NO! I—" I burst into a wail.

"I would think twice about that, if I were you," Elrond said. He seemed a bit alarmed.

I could feel desperate thoughts rushing around in my head; thoughts that weren't my own, but were at the same time. A nameless want, and a need for Aragorn; burning pain at the thought of his death. I saw Arwen, being held back by Lindir and Elrond. "Gwador!" she sobbed. _Brother. _She had called him brother, even back at the dining room table. So they really weren't romantically involved, in any way.

Because that image flashed across my mind: Aragorn, in silver armor, lying dead before the Black Gates, Sauron standing with one foot on his lifeless chest. And I...I was dressed in an ornate black lace dress, sleeveless, with my Pendant glowing on my chest. I was beautiful...

But I was chained to Sauron, with fine, golden chains. Strong, unbreakable chains. And my sword...I realized my sword was dripping with warm, red blood...

...Aragorn's blood.

He had been stabbed through the heart.

I screamed.

"Marilyn! Marilyn! Dannen GÎl!" A commanding voice called to me. I snapped back to reality. I was dripping with sweat, and Elrond was shaking me by the shoulders, his eyes piercing into mine. "Lasto beth nin, tolo dan na ngalad."

"I ACCEPT!" I scream/sobbed. "I ACCEPT! PLEASE...NO! No...no..." I broke down into a pile of mush. Or that what it felt like.

I know, I know. DEFINITELY not my finest, most badass moment.

At least Elrond actually hugged me. He was a good hugger; it must have been because he was a dad. I wished my dad had been like him. My dad only cared about the stock market, and what the guys at the Country Club were buying.

"Alas, my child," he said quietly. "I fear that fate may not be kind to you, after all."

Yeah, no shit Sherlock.

* * *

**_Translations (from the Sindarin, which I probably messed up on, sorry.)_**

Lindir: _Well met,Fallen Star!_

Marilyn: _Greetings, my lord! What is your name?_

L: _I am Lindir, my lady._

L: _Where is lord Aragorn?_

L: _Is there trouble?_

M_: The curse affected Aragorn. I ran._

L: _Follow me._

_. . ._

Elrond: _Lindir? What—_

Arwen: _Father?_

A: _Where is my brother Estel?_

E: _Welcome back, Fallen Star_

M: _My lord Elrond. It is my joy to meet you._

. . .

E: Marilyn! Marilyn! _Fallen Star! Hear my voice; come back to the light._

_. . ._

**Poor Marilyn! She's been SUED!**

**Don't worry. She'll have recovered enough in the next chapter.**

**You know, I'm more pissed off at the Deep Magic than Sauron at this point? I KNOW Sauron did other shit, but being SUED SUCKS.**

**As usual, reviews have a way of magically turning into more chapters. (: And remember: chapters are dedicated to the reviewers of the last chapter. ;) heh heh bribery...I'm a terrible person.**


	6. Chapter 5

**Hello, peoples!**

**So here's the next chapter. **

**Enjoy!**

**Wait. **

**You didn't ****_really _****think it would be that easy, did you?**

**Heh heh heh.**

**¡WARNING!**

**THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS: SPYING, MENTAL SWEARING, DREADED ENCOUNTERS, CRYING, BATHS, FRIENDSHIP, AVOIDANCE TECHNIQUES, BOREDOM,MORE DREADED ENCOUNTERS, AND ONE ROMANCE SCENE. **

**THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO: ****_StormwalkerofLorien (_****Yes. There must be. It is just too much of a coincidence for it to actually BE a coincidence...if you know what I mean ;)****_, LivLoveLaughForever (_****my first reviewer, you are too nice to me. It is working in your favor...niceness means more chapters, faster ;), ****_SilverMoonrise (AWESOME chapter by the way, I'm biting my nails for the next), _****and one guest, ****_Her (_****nice name, by the way. Thank you so much!)**

**Okay. I've paid my dues. Here we go!**

* * *

Chapter 5

In Which I Make An Unexpected Friend, and Avoid A Ranger

. . .

**Last Chapter:**

_"Marilyn! Marilyn! Dannen GÎl!" A commanding voice called to me. I snapped back to reality. I was dripping with sweat, and Elrond was shaking me by the shoulders, his eyes piercing into mine. "Lasto beth nin, tolo dan na ngalad."_

_"I ACCEPT!" I scream/sobbed. "I ACCEPT! PLEASE...NO! No...no..." I broke down into a pile of mush. Or that what it felt like. _

_I know, I know. DEFINITELY not my finest, most badass moment._

_At least Elrond actually hugged me. He was a good hugger; it must have been because he was a dad. I wished my dad had been like him. My dad only cared about the stock market, and what the guys at the Country Club were buying._

_"Alas, my child," he said quietly. "I fear that fate may not be kind to you, after all."_

_Yeah, no shit Sherlock._

_. . ._

I woke up peacefully, with the warm, golden light of the morning sun filtering onto my face.

Yeah, Rivendell was poetic like that.

It had been my first night in The Last Homely House. After my conversation/weeping session (ugh) with Elrond, it had been dusk, and since Aragorn would be arriving at any time, Elrond decided that it would be best for me to head to my room. Rather than face him. Which frankly, would probably be awful.

So I did.

I had also stayed awake long enough to hear him 'Stride' into the courtyard, and give a shout. It had been just barely dusk by then, the entirety of Rivendell bathed in a lavender light. Following an instinct (that I should have ignored), I had snuck out onto my balcony, watching as Aragorn had a hushed exchange with Lindir. Then Arwen had run out, in this beautiful flowing white dress, and hugged the crap out of him.

Figuratively, of course.

I was reminded with a sharp pang to the gut of what should have been. Aragorn should have loved that breathtaking elf, not antisocial, emo me.

But I saw her give him a light kiss to the cheek, and I could see, as clear as day, that there really wasn't a hint of romance in either of their eyes.

So...that left me with the truth, then.

That Deep Magic was a real bitch.

Arwen had taken him by the arm to lead him inside. I could see Lord Elrond waiting in the doorway—but then, so abruptly that I had no time to flinch or move out of the way, her eyes shot up to my form on the balcony of my room. And Aragorn's were quick to follow.

I froze, terrified.

Aragorn visibly stiffened, and his eyes burned through the dusk into my own. Yes, I _know_ how cliché that sounds, but they really did. If you are going to keep reading this, you should know by this point that YES, THERE WILL BE ROMANCE. I didn't want it, but it wasn't up to me; so if you can't deal with my fate as well I I had to, then I suggest you STOP READING THIS, NOW.

Just saying.

Now, where was I?

Oh yeah: the balcony. I couldn't move. It was as if his gaze had rooted me to the spot. I had half hoped against logic that the madness would have passed in the time we were apart, but no such luck. That longing was intense, yet mingled with shame. He was embarrassed of how he had behaved, but didn't regret a moment of it. No one could look that passionate who did.

"Aragorn!" Elrond said sharply. Aragorn's head snapped down to the elf, and I was freed. I ducked behind a column and out of his line of view.

I heard him go inside. And I saw no more of him that night.

I went back into my room, and flopped backwards onto my bed. Thinking about how much my life had been turned upside down in the twenty four hours I had been in Middle Earth.

Mainly, that I had been coerced into agreeing to consider Aragorn as romance material, using my sanity as bait.

Damn, that was cold.

But here I was. Stuck with it. And it wouldn't have been a bad situation, either..._if I hadn't been SUED._

I couldn't get over the fact that I had been Sued. I mean, capital S-U-E, with a lowercase d. SUEd. Yeah. That.

Dumbass Deep Magic. Trying to screw with my mind...and dammit, it was working!

The thing was, I would have probably not have minded my 'fate', if Aragorn falling for someone besides Arwen wasn't so un-canon, and fan girlish. I felt stupid and _very much_ a Mary-Sue, having to accept that he was _betrothed_ to me, and _wanted _to be with me, if only I would surrender to it. It seemed so perfectly wrong that I didn't know how to cope with it actually being my reality.

And I couldn't even believe that Frodo hadn't left the Shire yet.

Or had he?

Ugh, shit was so fucked up at this point.

After this dismal thought, I promptly passed out on the silky pile of goodness that was my bed. I hadn't slept in two days and the fatigue, along with the stress and emotional turmoil (*gag*) was really taking its toll.

Thus, how I woke up the next morning.

With the sun blinding me, I rolled over and stuffed my head under a pillow.

Then, I shot upright.

I never slept more than five hours, remember?

Damn Deep Magic!

I jumped off the bed, realizing that I was still in my travel clothes, but the bed was still spotless. Yeah, I know, impossible. Not if you're actively being SUEd. Then, I looked around, until I spotted my sword, bow and quiver leaning against a wardrobe. I sighed in relief. Seeing my beauties always made me feel better. They were practically a part of me; and being separated was...well, weird.

I checked them for damage, but there was none. Elves knew how to handle weapons with respect, I chided myself. Then, I set them aside and peeked into the wardrobe, privately hoping I would find Narnia in there.

Hey, pretty much anything would be better than getting SUEd, in Middle Earth.

But then, I might mess up a storyline there, too. So I was also relieved to find nothing but clothes inside.

The downside? They were all dresses.

"Valardammit," I muttered, putting my hands on my hips in irritation. "I will _not _wear this stuff. I will raid some poor unfortunate male elf's room before I wear this frilly—"

A light knocking sounded on my door, with a distinct feminine tone. Yes, knocks can sound feminine. If you paid close attention to them sometime, you would realize this too.

"Come in," I said, slightly apprehensive. I didn't know anyone female here yet. Maybe it was just a servant, coming to shake my sorry ass out of bed.

But it wasn't. It was Arwen.

I wanted to disappear into the floor. Unfortunately, it didn't want to swallow me up. Because it was a floor. And I was being ridiculous.

Arwen looked at me for a long five seconds before entering the room. She said nothing, which made me very nervous.

"I'm...sorry that I overslept," I said awkwardly. "I didn't realize what time it was. I hope I didn't offend anyone by—"

Arwen held up a hand. "You were tired from your journey," she said, in those caramel tones of hers. That was the only way I could think of her voice. Like caramel. Smooth, and mellow. If you've seen the movies, then you know what I mean. "And it isn't far into the morning; the sun has only just risen. I myself have only just woken." And she gave me a small smile.

I instantly felt like, a million times better. There was no hostility in that smile.

It was then that I noticed she was holding a stack of clothing.

Oh. Yes.

"You seem wary of me," she said. Her bright blue orbs seemed so innocently concerned. "I had wondered why my father did not entrust you to my care, but he told me that I must wait until the morning. I am sorry that you went without comforts last night."

"Oh it was no big deal," I said with a shrug. "I mean, it was no inconvenience. But I am glad of them now."

Arwen smiled again. "My father tells me you are from another world; the same world Mariel the Brave went into. Doubtless this explains your strange accent. But you speak well also. It is a great mystery." She came and handed me the stack of clothes. "Estel told me you favored less feminine raiment. I did my best, with what we have here."

I had stiffened when she said Aragorn's name, and Arwen noticed it. A look of realization passed over her face. "It is true then. You do fear him." She sighed, and her eyes dulled. "The curse has taken hold."

"Did your father not tell you?" I asked, then regretted it. I really didn't want to talk about that whole thing so early in the morning.

Arwen looked sadly at me. "He did. But I had hoped for Estel's sake that he was mistaken." She sat down on the edge of my bed, her shoulders sagging.

Great. I had upset the Evenstar. I wondered if I would ever do anything right for her. I had already ruined her destiny. And now I had upset her.

I felt like a total ass.

Apparently Arwen saw my face, because she said, "Do not think poorly of yourself because of my grief. It was I who instilled such desire in his heart. I was the one who kept telling him the story. The prophesy. It was I who raised his hopes, and put you in danger." A tear slid down her cheek. "It would have been better for him to have not known until now. Then you would not fear him as you do, for his will would not have snapped. This difficulty is my doing."

I was speechless. _Arwen_ had been the one to tell him of the Prophesy?

"It was I who told him who you would be. And it is my fault that you now fear him. I have hastened the will of the Dark Lord." She was trembling like a girl that had just blown her _X-Factor_ audition. But 'hastening the will of the Dark Lord' was serious business in Middle Earth, so I could hardly blame her for her grief.

"Arwen," I said gently. I went over and, after a moment's hesitation, set a hand on her shoulder. "It is not your fault. The Dark Lord will do what he will, and the Deep Magic will counter it. Already it seeks to bend my will, and open my heart. Do not despair. All has happened as it was meant to...well, in this reality."

After a moment, she looked up at me, her eyes shining. "You are wise, Dannen Gîl," she said. "Truly, your face does not do your age justice."

"As if yours did," I laughed. Arwen laughed too—damn, even her laugh was beautiful. Light and airy; like starlight.

Oh. Well, that was fitting then.

I also realized, with no small amount of shock, that I was getting along quite nicely with her. Odd, but nice. I rarely got along with girls my own age...but you know that.

Also, she wasn't really my age. She had about a thousand years on me.

Damn.

Arwen swiped at her eyes. "Forgive me; you have been through much, and I am the one crying." She got to her feet.

"It's fine; really." She would have cried more if she had known what had been taken from her. I looked down at the floor.

"Come," she said. "I will draw you a bath, and then we will go to breakfast together. I wish to know my brother's betrothed better."

"We are sisters already," I said, inwardly shocked at my own words. "We bear Pendants with stones from the same Silmaril."

Arwen smiled, and I could have sworn the Evenstar on her breast twinkled at my acknowledgement. "Another truth," she said, and taking me by the arm, led me into the bathroom adjoining my room.

I bathed alone; but after I had I dressed in the olive skinnies, white blouse, and new brown boots that Arwen had brought me, I went back into the bedroom. Arwen was sitting at the vanity, rearranging small objects on its surface. She looked up at me, and smiled happily.

"They fit you!" she cried joyously. "I did my best with the time I had, but I worried that I had gotten the fitting right...I had only seen you twice before, and not very thoroughly."

"Wait..."I looked down at the clothes I shock. "You mean, you _made _these? Just last night?"

Arwen nodded. "It was with short notice, and I worried about the quality of the fabric. But it seems all is well."

Wow. Just wow. And I had been worried she hated me.

"Thank you," I said, very gratefully. "Thank you _very_ much." I would have just worn a damn dress if I had known it would cost her her entire night's beauty sleep.

Then she insisted on braiding my hair. Normally, this would have been a huge 'no way in hell'. No one did my hair but me. But I had always wondered what it was like to have an older sister, as I hadn't any siblings at all back home.; and Arwen hadn't ever had a little sister either. So I caved, and I think we both enjoyed our time together. Arwen talked with me the whole time, and had me in stitches with tales of her two twin brothers, Elladan and Elrohir. Apparently in their spare time they pranked all visitors to their father's house.

"But you have nothing to worry about," Arwen laughed. "They would not dare do anything questionable to Estel's betrothed. He would have their heads for it."

"Or I would," I laughed, tossing my finished braid back over my shoulder, and rose to stretch my legs. "I don't let others fight my battles for me."

Arwen's eyes flew to my weapons in the corner, and her eyes clouded. "Another way in which you are like Mariel," she said. "Her departure was before my time, but her valor lives on in songs and tales—and, apparently, in you." She looked at the weapons, and shuddered. "I could never bring myself to learn how to use such tools. The idea of taking the life of another being is too horrifying for me."

Aha! Another diversion from Tolkien plot! Or...was it? After all, it hadn't been Arwen who had found Frodo and the others on the road to Rivendell in the book; it had been Glorfindel, the High Elven Balrog Slayer.

My mind was too muddled from my own plot twists to remember what was bookverse or movieverse. MEverse was hard enough.

After this, we went to breakfast.

Aragorn was not present.

Thankfully.

The Deep Magic had done something right.

* * *

I stayed in Rivendell for two weeks.

I know. What the hell was I doing all that time?

Avoiding Aragorn, mostly.

I spent a lot of time with Arwen, who knew when and where to avoid Aragorn. This was a huge blessing. There had only been a few instances where this plan had failed: once, while walking in a hallway, we had had to walk right by him. I had seen his eyes locked on me before I looked down at the ground. I couldn't think of where to go, and inwardly cursed the Deep Magic for plaguing me with Sue qualities in these moments.

Arwen had taken me by the arm then. "Why don't we go outside for a bit?" she had said warmly, and I looked at her, only to see her giving Aragorn a warning look.

The cool evening air of Rivendell could do wonders as an antidote to Sueness.

Then, the last time, I had been alone.

It was the thirteenth day since my arrival, and I was getting stir-crazy. Sure it was beautiful in Imladris, but I missed the shady coolness of the woods, and the exposure to the elements, believe it or not. Everyone here kept treating me like a princess—which, in a way, I suppose I was. Which only made me want to leave more.

But Elrond had told me to stay until word came from Gandalf; and as I hadn't had any more dreams of him, I assumed things were going well. It was time for Frodo to leave the Shire, and I was getting antsy. The real story was coming, and I had no idea what to expect now that so much had changed.

The best thing I could think to do was to keep in practice. So every day I spent a good hour practicing at the shooting range. But no one would spar with me, and it made me nervous. I didn't want my swordplay to go in the toilet.

That day, the range was pretty much deserted. I had gone alone; which was a stupid idea, had I realized it at the time. But that valardamn Deep Magic loved to give me lapses in judgment.

I was focusing so hard that I must have not heard him walk up behind me. I let fly with an arrow, sinking it deep into the center of the target 300 feet away.

Another thing that bothered me: my very usage of weapons, let alone with some skill, made me even more of a Mary-Sue. Honestly, was there anything you _could_ do to avoid that branding?

For me, at least, it wasn't looking like it.

"Dammit," I muttered. I had wanted to split the arrow I had fired before, but no such luck. I reached for another arrow, biting my lip in concentration.

"Is perfection not good enough?"

I froze, my stomach sinking and and fluttering at the same time. If that was even possible.

Oh. Shit.

I turned around in horror.

Aragorn was standing there, in all his rugged handsomeness, his blue eyes shining at me. His lips twitched as if he were suppressing a smile.

And I cursed my fashion choice that day.

Since I had failed to even catch sight of him in so long, I had decided to take a risk, and wear something really fetching. I had chosen tight black pants with an emerald green, silver inlayed tunic that was absolutely gorgeous. It had been hanging neglected in my closet (refilled with clothing of _my_ style, thankfully) for over a week, and I had finally given in to the temptation of wearing it. My Pendant was visible, due to the tunic's scoop-neck, and my hair had fallen loose of the braid I had carelessly made.

I was under a pavilion, because the sun was scorching, and I could see my reflection in a shield that had been left there, along with other weapons. My cheeks were flushed pink and I looked flustered; but dammit, beautiful. More than usual. I had a nagging feeling that the Deep Magic had put that shield there just to torment me.

Fuck it. I doubted this would end well.

I realized I was gaping at him.

"What are you," I began, then broke off and cleared my throat nervously, tucking my hair back behind my ear. My voice had come out (quite without my consent) in a deeper tone than I had meant: almost a purr. It had been very suggestive, and I saw the response immediately in his eyes: a dilation of the pupils that frankly, scared the shit out of me. "What are you doing here?" I said, angrily. Angry was better. I did angry really well, and it helped push out the romantic thoughts the Magic was forcing on me. For instance, the thought of how perfect it would be if he would kiss me right then and there.

Um, HELL no, bitch!

Aragorn raised an eyebrow, and stepped closer. I stepped back, "Stay away!" I hissed.

His eyes saddened. "I mean you no harm," he reassured me, holding out a hand to me. But I stayed back. In that blue tunic of his, he was quite the delicious bit of eye candy...aw fuck.

Here came the torrent of mental swearing.

"I just came to say goodbye before I set out," he said, watching for my response.

"W-where are you going?!" I stuttered urgently. I may have been frightened of him, but oddly, I felt safer knowing he was in the same building. Totally mental, I know. Don't even say it.

"To Bree," Aragorn said. "Word has come from Gandalf: the Ring of Power travels in the hands of a Halfling. I must go and meet him there."

I let out a sigh of relief. So the story was going according to book, somewhat. Then, I tensed. "Nazgûl will be out," I whispered. Aragorn took a step closer to me, looking concerned. This time, I didn't move away. I suddenly felt very protective of him. "They will try to kill you. They know what you mean to me."

"And just what do I mean to you?" Aragorn asked, in that valardamned low tone of his. But his eyes were vulnerable; he really wanted to know, and he was like a little school boy, seeking my approval.

I sighed. I had the odd sensation of my senses being heightened. Even a few feet apart, I could smell the tobacco on him, a faint trace of cedar, and something that was entirely his own. It was this last scent that left me with a mind made of jelly. It was him, pure and simple; and I knew that Mariel was somewhere behind my wish to just be folded in his arms.

"You have been avoiding me, these past weeks," he said, stepping closer. Only three steps remained between me and him.

"I have been afraid," I whispered. My voice refused to rise any higher. "You have not been yourself of late."

"I will never be myself, without you." Two steps apart. I trembled at his words. I had the sudden realization that no one had ever made me feel like this before. "Long have I awaited your coming, meleth nín."

I knew the curse was taking over him. I could hear it in the way he was slipping into elvish. But I wasn't afraid like last time. I was just feeling...unworthy.

"This is not how it should have been," I whispered again. One step. "You were not supposed to love me."

"According to what?" He murmured, and reached out to cup my face in his hand. I shivered. "A fairy tale in your land? Or the reality we live now?" Aragorn lifted my face to meet his gaze, and it was in that moment, I realized the truth in his words. "Which of the two is more real?"

The dude had a point.

No steps.

I stopped breathing. Because I knew what I had to do.

I felt his breath on my lips, and felt him leaning in towards me...

And then I chuckled.

Aragorn looked at me, surprised. I laughed outright. Dammit, the perfection of the moment was just too much.

The Deep Magic wasn't going to win that easily.

"I'm coming with you," I said, giving him a wink. "Someone has to save your ass from the Black Riders." With that comment still burning, I pulled out of his reach, and sped off to find Lord Elrond. He wouldn't be thrilled with my choice, but he would understand why it was necessary.

I needed more time to spend alone, holding my own with that Ranger.

And that, dear readers, is how I ended up riding to Bree to meet Frodo Baggins and company.

* * *

**Bwahahaha! Suck on that, Deep Magic! Marilyn will not be SUEd so quickly!**

**_Translation: _**

_For the odd person who has read fanfiction and yet does NOT know the meaning of the phrase, MELETH NIN means 'my love', in Sindarin._

**Chapter 6 is being held ransom for reviews. Please, help the poor thing earn it's freedom!**


	7. Chapter 6

**In Which the Author Apologizes For Being A Late Lameass**

**Yeah. Title says it. Sorry, guys. My friend in the hospital ended up having to fly to Seattle for surgery, and we were helping her get ready all week. I literally have been leaving the house at 7, and not coming home till 1 in the morning. But she's been waiting a year and a half for this surgery that she desperately needed, so it was definitely worth it. (:**

** But still. Sorry for the posting delay.**

**I'm pleased to inform you that, thanks to your valiant efforts, Chapter 6 has been freed from its imprisonment. **

***confetti everywhere***

**It was so happy, it almost cried. Then I slapped it and told it not to be such a Sue.**

**That sobered it up. For a while.**

**Then, I went mental. I can't believe I'm already to 30 reviews!*cackles maniacally* Ahem. You people are awesome. ;) **

**Okay, down to business.**

**¡WARNING!**

**THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS: IRRITATING RANGERS (WELL, ONE REALLY; IT'S THE SAME ONE THE WHOLE TIME,)MENTAL (AND VERBAL) SWEARING), OLD PEOPLE, ONE (YES, ONE) HORSE, OUR KICKASS HEROINE LAYING DOWN THE LAW, UNWARRENTED MUSIC (OH SH**, BRUNO MARS), AN UNSANITARY BAR/INN/RESTAURANT/THING, UNINTENTIONAL USE OF THE WORD 'SEXY', MORE SWEARING, INTENTIONAL USE OF THE WORD 'SEXY', INSULTS, REGRETS, RINGWRAITHS, HARD DECISIONS, MORE REGRETS, AND MORE UNWARRANTED MUSIC (NOT BRUNO MARS).**

**WHEW.**

**THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO: All of my lovely readers who had to wait for it, but also (specifically): ****_BooDude, Stormwalkerof Lorien (_****Yes. Exactly. And you will see, it is getting harder to discern what is the DM or Marilyn. Also: I hope you're not dead by now. Ooh! I know CPR, if you need it ****_;), Fallen's child (_****thank you, lovely new reviewer! It will be hard to get me to shut up, I'm afraid. But the encouragement is sooo helpful. ****_:), laststandof221bluebox (_****NEVER too many exclamation points in a review. I treasure them all! See? And that's only part of my collection****_), StarOfGondolin (_****thank you! I know, me either. Hence this story****_. ;), SilverMoonrise (_****ha! You're words betray you. 'I read it in countless romance fics! :o'? Thanks...now I know you READ countless romance fics. Heh heh heh...blackmail! JK ;) not done. Plus, your OC will survive. She's like that. Kudos on the completion of your story! Okay; now I'm done****_ :), Cherry Tree230 (_****3 thanks!) and two****_ guests (_****or lazy users, like me****_): Random Potato, and Random Person (_****who I suspect of being the SAME person...o.O hmmm****_...)_**

**This chapter is for you guys.**

* * *

Chapter 6

In Which I Meet an OLD friend, and Stick It To 'The Man' (Twice)

**_Last Chapter:_**

_. . ._

_Aragorn looked at me, surprised. I laughed even harder. Dammit, the perfection of the moment was just too much._

_The Deep Magic wasn't going to win that easily._

_"I'm coming with you," I said, giving him a wink. And with that, I pulled out of his reach, and sped off to find Lord Elrond. He wouldn't be thrilled with my choice, but he would understand why it was necessary. _

_I needed more time to spend alone, holding my own with that Ranger._

_And that, dear readers, is how I ended up riding to Bree to meet Frodo Baggins and company._

_. . ._

We left that evening. Why we would want to leave at night, I disputed; but Elrond said that we needed as much of a head start as we could get because of the Nasgûl.

I had face palmed at my stupidity. Which had made Aragorn grab my hand, worried. "Why do you slap yourself?" he had asked, _very_ stereotypically.

Puked. In. My. Mouth.

"Because I just asked a question with an overly obvious answer, duh," I had said, scowling at him. I yanked my hand back.

"A lady should not strike herself."

"Well then, you are lucky that I am not a lady," I scoffed, and turned back to Elrond.

"Marilyn, you _ are_—"

"SHUT," I had said sharply, with one of my famous glares, "the F up. NOW."

Aragorn exchanged raised eyebrows with Elrond, but said nothing.

I mean, they each kept their own eyebrows; they didn't like, crawl off one's face and then...oh, never mind.

Elrond had sent Aragorn out then, and given me a great many orders about how to avoid triggering the curse's effects; all of which were things I knew anyway. Honestly, just because I hadn't been born in Middle Earth made him think I didn't know how to avoid interested guys. If anything, I knew _more_.

Then he'd had a talk with Aragorn, which I can only speculate had some of the same subjects. I really, honestly, REALLY didn't want to know. (Yes, really twice.)

We had been dismissed after that, with orders to return to Rivendell without hesitation after the 'Halflings' had been collected. I insisted on calling them 'Hobbits', because I knew how shitty it was to be called a title that wasn't very flattering. At least to yourself.

I'd gone back to my room, where Arwen had left my old clothes for me. I was glad to be back in my outfit, from my own world. It made me feel...well, more like myself. Less like 'Lady Marilyn, Dannen Gíl of the Western Wilds', as I'd been called since my arrival. I felt like MJ Comett of North Highward Street, America.

It was just after I'd finished dressing and buckling on my gear that I heard a low knock on my door.

Literally. The knock sounded like it was on the bottom half of the door.

I cocked my head curiously. Umm...?

"Come in," I said.

I couldn't have been more surprised at who it was.

"Hello," the small person said. "I don't believe we have met yet. I am—"

"Bilbo Baggins," I breathed, fangirling so hard inside, I wanted to slap that Deep Magic silly.

But he _was_ the first Hobbit I had ever seen.

Bilbo seemed surprised. "Why, yes. I thought you wouldn't recognize me; as we hadn't been properly introduced."

"It's a wonder I didn't run into you before," I said. "I've been here for two weeks!"

"My thoughts exactly," said Bilbo. He seemed somewhere in between the age he'd looked when he left the Shire, and when Frodo had arrived in Rivendell in the films. He was old; but not super duper 'I ate dinosaur steaks for dinner as a kid' old. If you know what I mean. "The Lord Elrond said that for your safety it would be better if you saw as few people as possible. I figured he must mean the Prophesy, but I couldn't understand why meeting me would matter; and anyway, you're leaving now. Regretfully."

"Geez, does _everybody _around here know about that damn" —noting Bilbo's flinch at my swear word, I reneged— "_stupid,_ Prophesy?" Then I laughed. "and thank you, it's nice to know someone will miss me around here."

"Many will miss you," said Bilbo, seeming a bit surprised. "Lady Arwen most of all. And yes, the Prophesy is well known to all who live here in Imladris—it being the last place Mariel the Brave visited and all."

"Oh, right," I said. We stood there awkwardly for a minute, before I jumped and said. "Gosh, I'm sorry; I'm just standing here like a twat." I held out my hand. "Marilyn Comett. I am _very_ pleased to meet you, Mr. Baggins."

Bilbo flushed (SO much cuter then you can even imagine,) and took my hand. I shook it at once, to avoid his kissing it. I was really getting tired of people doing that here, and if you didn't let them in Rivendell they looked mortally offended. So I had been putting up with it for a while before I started hiding my hands behind my back when a new person was introduced to me, and giving a smile and half nod instead. I'm pretty sure it came off a bit stand-offish; but then, I really _am_ stand-offish, so...

"You know," I said to Bilbo, "Back home I have a favorite book...well, I have another one too, but it's longer and sadder. Anyway, it's called, "There and Back Again'. Have you heard of it?" I smirked at him.

Bilbo's face lit up. "Why, that's the name of my book. But I haven't finished it yet. I..." He gave me an odd look. "What is that book about?"

I looked up at the ceiling casually. "Oh, you know: Adventure, dwarves, wizards; dragons, gold, lost kingdoms. Battles. Some bad guys. More battles. The usual." I looked down at him. "Oh! And the most important thing of all: A short, good-looking gentleman-gone-burglar, in a waistcoat with golden buttons, and a secret golden something in his pocket." I winked.

Bilbo gaped. Then, he laughed outright. Reminded me of something I would do. "You've heard my tale!"

"Read it," I corrected. His brow furrowed...well, I thought so anyway. It was hard to tell under that mop of graying hair.

"But...how?" He muttered, half to himself. "It isn't finished yet; close, but not nearly finished." I did _not_ comment on how something couldn't be close to and not nearly finished at the same time. But I REALLY wanted to. REALLY badly.

See? I have self-restraint. And I sure as hell need it, with this stubborn ass Deep Magic on my tail and in my mind all the time, trying to SUE me.

Grrrrr...

Honestly, I wished the damn thing had a physical embodiment, just so I could slaughter it as payback for the drama its caused me. And mostly likely will cost me, in the future. And all the poor, unsuspecting characters its dragging through the mud, using ME to do it. Geez, the fucking thing MUST be an orc; its choices have been just as hideous as those beasties LOOK.

But I'm ranting. And now, back to Bilbo.

"Bilbo?"

He was spacing off.

"I'm sorry my dear; I was only trying to figure out how you could have read my book without it having been finished yet. It is a bewilderment to me." He paused. "I mean, you would have to be from the future, or something of that sort!" He laughed.

I gave him a rueful look. "Actually, I don't think you're too far off the mark there, Bilbo." I bent down and put a hand on his shoulder. "I wish I had more time to speak with you, dear hobbit; but I fear that I mustn't delay my companion any longer." Companion? Aw, fuck. "Perhaps you can forgive my need to be off so abruptly."

"Oh! Of course, my lady!" Bilbo hopped out of my way surprisingly quickly for a hobbit of his age. "I mustn't keep you!"

I rose to my feet and slung my pack over my shoulder. "All the Best to You and Yours," I said, flashing him a real smile. God, hobbits were so real and down-to-earth that you couldn't help but be comfortable with them. Being around Bilbo for the five minutes I had been made me seem emotionally constipated the other 98 percent of the time. I sighed. "And _please,_ won't you call me MJ? Nobody will around here, and it's really getting on my nerves."

Bilbo flashed me a knowing smile. "Certainly. Why, on my own journey, I couldn't get the dwarves to stop referring to me as 'the hobbit' until after the Misty Mountains...but you knew that." He chuckled. "And as for my relations, my nearest and dearest will be quite safe, once he is traveling with you and Aragorn."

I forced a smile, hoping with all my heart that he was right. "Indeed. Thank you, for your vote of confidence." I readjusted my quiver and belt. "I certainly hope I will be able to speak with you more upon my return. "

"Until then," he said, with a slight bow as I made for the door. "Until then, Lady MJ."

It was all could do not to cringe as I left the room. "Goodbye, Bilbo."

* * *

Aragorn and I had set out quietly. We had each said our separate goodbyes to Arwen, and were 'back in the saddle' long before nightfall.

Good sense deemed that we cover as much ground as possible, without straining the horse. Yes, _horse,_ because some nitwit had decided that I didn't need a horse to myself. Although, Aragorn told me it was because we needed 'to travel as lightly as possible, and yet still make adequate time'.

Bull. Shit. This had 'Deep Magic' graffiti-ed all over it in sparkly pink nail polish.

Need I say again, _fuck._

And I bet I know just _which_ nitwit had the idea, too. NOT subtle, dude.

I knew it would take us about two weeks to Bree, but it seemed so much longer this time. Not only because I worried immensely for Frodo's safety, given the serious plot twists; but because that rare flower Aragorn was being a royal pain in my...

_...side._

There were countless reasons why.

For one thing, he was constantly coming over when I was in the middle of doing something, say, unstrapping packs from his horse, and just take over. I let him do it the first few times, but after the fifth time I snatched the item (it happened to be a blanket roll) back from him.

He gave me this confused look. "I've got it," I growled. "Gosh, you treat me like I'm some sort of incapable ninny. I think I can unload a horse well enough, thank you!"

In response, Aragorn merely gave me a smile and walked away, to tend to the fire. The fire that _I _had started.

Uh huh.

And then there were the comments. Mostly, about how I shouldn't have to do things because 'I was a lady,' and other statements like that that are not necessarily sexist, but are definitely aggravating.

Plus, the preemptive behavior.

I wanted to hunt, he already had.

I wanted to wake up early to saddle the horse, he woke up even earlier and saddle it.

I wanted to go for a walk, and he insisted it wasn't safe for me to go alone.

The only thing I _could _ do by myself was bathe, and I'm pretty sure that if this wasn't Middle Earth, he would have wanted to do that for me too.

In fact, there were sometimes looks on his face that made me think he did.

Those _really _gave me the creeps. Also: hot chills.

Damn that perv. And DAMN THE DEEP MAGIC TOO!

Finally, it got to be too much. One night before bed, I mentioned how I needed to rearrange my pack in the morning, because I had shuffled it around and out of the most convenient order. Well, lover boy got it in his fucked up head that I was telling him to do it; because when I woke up the next morning (he was saddling the horse again) I saw him hesitate when strapping it to the horse. Then, he went for the buckle.

Oh _hell_ no, bitch! Nobody touches my gear!

I MEAN weapon/supply gear, guys. Head. Out. Of. The Gutter.

I was still up in my tree; luckily, with my weapons. Employing my stealth ninja skills, I grabbed an arrow out of my quiver, and shot it at him.

NEVER try that at home, kids.

It went just where I wanted it to: and no, that place was _not_ between his legs. It was into his right hand sleeve; through, and into the tree on the other side, effectively pinning his shirt to the wood. And his sword arm. Fuck. Yes.

I swung down out of the tree, drawing my sword quicker than a whip and setting it at his throat. I saw his left arm subtly crawl for his dagger, so I gave him a warning look. " Ah ah ah," I said I a sing-song voice. Then, in my normal, pissed off voice, "I would _not_ do that, if I were you."

"You...your hair," he stuttered. This was the WRONG thing to say to me just then, because yes, (dammit,) I had forgotten to rebraid my hair.

Again.

"Would you SHUT the FUCK UP about my HAIR!" I yelled at him. "I am getting REALLY pissed with this whole 'I'm super noble, protecting my 'lady' from all things work' shit! Now, either you start treating me like your EQUAL, or I walk as soon as this war is over, and you can kiss your sanity GOODBYE!"

Something in his face changed at this point. He stopped having that glazed over expression that he'd had since his 'snap', and started to look like that badass guy I'd met on my first day in Middle Earth again. The guy I'd pranked the shit out of. Figuratively speaking. The guy Tolkien wrote of, and the guy that PJ had made a visual reality for the masses.

The guy that I actually _missed._

His eyes narrowed. "You are impossible to please; you know this, don't you?"

"No shit, Sherlock," I said, with a sigh of relief. "But good to see you're back, Ranger. This 'Estel' dude was really getting on my nerves; always following me around with puppy-dog eyes. Being a chauvinistic sociopathic pervert. But you probably don't know what that means."

"A male-dominant, self-adoring, sexually disturbed individual," Aragorn said dryly. I jumped.

"Well. Loosely, yes. I stand corrected." I withdrew my blade. "In all fairness, if it were any other girl you were dealing with you'd have her wrapped around your little finger by now. But I'm not your average girl."

"I'd noticed."

"What, is that _sarcasm? _" I grinned, and slugged him in the arm. This seemed to surprise him, as he raised an eyebrow at my suddenly chummy behavior. "Now, stop looking at me like I'm bipolar. I'm not. I just mega-loathe being treated like a princess. That's what they treated me like back in Rivendell, and I'm sure as hell not going to take it from you." I went over to my bag and set about strapping it to the horse. "I don't care if _technically_ I'm your betrothed or whatever. There's a saying in my world that says, "Girls just want to have fun'." I paused. "Actually, I think it's a verse from a song. Either way, my point stands: If 'girls just want to have fun', _I_ just want to be what I am: that is, not a princess, like you seem to think I am. I—"

"I know what you are," Aragorn said firmly. This actually startled me into silence.

Then, possibly the weirdest thing yet happened.

Yeah. It was that weird.

Out of the blue, Bruno Mars was playing from the tree.

_Run run runaway, baby!_

_Before I put my spell on you!_

_You better get away, get away, get away darlin',_

_Because everything you've heard is true!_

_Your poor little heart will end up alone;_

_'Cause lord knows I'm a rolling stone_

_So you better run run run away, run away baby!_

Uh, da fuq?

"What the hell..." I looked up, and there, dangling from its charging cord, was...

"My Android? Are you _fucking kidding ME?!" _ I shot up the tree to save my device from utter ruin.

Great. Just when I thought I was beginning to hold my own, the Deep Magic decides to throw modern technology into the mix.

I shut off the damn song and scrambled back down the tree. "Don't ask me now," I said, holding up a hand to his question. "We'll...finish this talk some other time."

So Aragorn shut his mouth, and we went on that day without bringing up either topic.

And the next day.

Annnnd the day after that.

We arrived in Bree two days later.

* * *

Walking into _The Prancing Pony _ was like walking into a hunting lodge mixed with a dirty bar, mixed with a boy's locker room. In short, it smelled; and this was coming from an athletic type. So did the people in it. That smell made me want to run back out of Bree and into the stream I'd bathed in that morning. I won't bother describing how it smelled like all things hideous and nasty. I mean, it was bad. I felt for the Hobbits; who, like myself, had never and would hope never to smell anything like this again.

Now, I'm not the germaphobic type. But this place had to be like a public bathroom. My stomach turned at the thought of eating here, and I made up my mind that no way in hell was that happening. In fact, if the Hobbits didn't show I would sleep in a tree again before this place.

I'm pretty sure Aragorn knew what I was thinking—that, or my face gave it away. But I doubted that. I have an excellent poker face.

"You need not wait here if the conditions make you uncomfortable," he said slowly. I snorted, then looked up to tell him to STFU, when I saw he was smirking.

That asshole was mocking me.

I socked him in the arm, hard, then made for an empty table in the corner nearest the fireplace. Maybe the warmth would kill off some of the bacteria.

Or at least, keep away the rodentia that I saw sitting on the shoulders of some others I could mention.

Yeah, this was feeling more middle agey than Middle Earth.

OR...

...probably they were intertwined.

Damn.

I slouched down in my chair, taking in the filthy surroundings before casually slipping my hand in my pocket to my Android. Without attracting attention, I slipped my black Skull Candy earbuds under my cloak and into my ears, then played some _Florence + the Machine _ to soothe my irritable mood.

Which only made me more pissed off, of course.

Aragorn purchased a beer—I mean, _ale,_ I guess—and I found myself wondering if they had anything harder than wine or ale here. I mean, that would be pretty boring, ya know? No vodka, or Grey Goose, or Patron...um, that's something else you should know about rich girls. They sometimes are dared to take shots at their parent's parties.

And their parents are the ones betting against them. At least, mine were.

So you can bet your boots I learned how to hold my liquor. I wasn't about to let them make money off of me or my mistakes.

They stopped betting after a while.

Aragorn came and sat down next to me. My song had just ended, so I paused the playback. "It may be a while," he muttered, which came out as more of a sexy growl. "Would you prefer to talk, or sit here and look mysterious?" I could tell he was smirking again, the bastard.

Well, at least he was keeping up his end of the bargain, and treating me as an equal.

"Neither," I said, rising. "I'm going to check on the horse. If you want to look sexy and mysterious in the corner be my guest."

Wait...had I just thought he had a _sexy growl?_ And then _called_ him sexy?

F.U.C.K.

Aragorn did not miss this. He looked up and me, his face framed by his hood and the shadow and that smirk altogether being _very_ sexy, whether I liked it or not. And he know it, dammit. He _knew it!_ "Sexy?" he growled, and my stomach knotted. My mind worked frantically for some kind of backlash.

"Yeah," I said calmly, and even rather coolly. "Maybe then some other girl will come along and hit on you, so I don't have to spend the rest of my life with an asshole like you."

Oooh! Ouch.

Even for me, ouch.

But I felt cold, bitter, angry. And he was _seriously _pissing me off.

I saw the smirk fall from his lips so quickly that it must have hurt.

Then, I rolled my eyes, and 'strode' out of the inn.

What a pervert.

* * *

The horse was fine. I wasn't. I was feeling like I'd made a bit of an ass of myself.

Which I had.

That was a low blow, even for me.

Stewing, I went and snuck out the main gate of Bree behind the back of the scroogey old gatekeeper (who ended up thinking that the gate was being haunted and climbed up a huge oak just outside. It was raining, and miserably muddy, but then I felt pretty shitty too, so I guessed the weather was fitting. This way, from up in the tree I could watch for Frodo's coming.

I thought about what I had promised Bilbo, and what was coming next. The Nasgûl were on Frodo's tail, and they now had a new, stronger hatred for Aragorn as my betrothed.

And that's when it hit me: Frodo wasn't the only one in danger that night. Aragorn was in trouble as well, and that was my fault. I had to protect both of them; not only because of Frodo's weakness with the Ring, but because Aragorn would try to protect _me_ from the Ringwraiths, and that would only get him killed.

I waited for a good hour and a half, worrying.

And then I saw the nine riders storm the gate.

But... Frodo hadn't come yet! I had watched for him, the whole time! My eyes had never left the gate!

It was at this point that I realized the story had changed. Frodo was still somewhere along the road, and I had to go find him.

But...Aragorn!

He could take care of himself...right?

I had no choice. I knew what I had to do.

So I slipped back into Bree, grabbed the horse, and skulked out. Trying not to look at _The Prancing Pony,_ where a Ranger that I hated to admit I cared about was in a heap of trouble. Already I could see light flashing around in there, and squealy Ringwraith noises. And swords. Swords, clashing.

I knew had to save Frodo.

But a sharp tugging pulled in my chest at the thought of the words I had said to him before I'd left.

He wasn't an asshole. _I_ was the asshole, who shunned him, avoided him, never returned any affection. He loved me silently, even hiding it away at my request; even though the Deep Magic tormented him, perhaps even more than it tormented me. I didn't suffer from indescribable longing, and the burden of constant rejection. Just the inconvenience of being turned into a more feminine person.

And he had never complained about it; not once.

Tears sprung to my eyes. SUEd or not, I had no right to treat him badly. I knew better than anything that he deserved so much more than me.

And now, I might never get a chance to tell him that.

I swung up onto the horse, and rode off before I followed what my heart wanted me to do.

I had orders from Elrond. The Halflings were to be saved at any cost.

Then my valardamn Android went bezerk again. It was only at this point that I realized I was still wearing the Skull Candy.

_Well you only need the light when it's burning low_

_Only miss the sun when it starts to snow_

_Only know you love him when you let him go_

_Only know you've been high when you're feeling low_

_Only hate the road when you're missing home_

_Only know you love him when you let him go_

_And you let him go_

Um...it was a good enough song, but wasn't it 'only know you love _her_ when you let _her_ go'?

I must have misheard, because the rest of the song was properly sung. And it made all too much sense for Aragorn.

Very, very applicable.

Dammit!

Was I ever going to do _anything _right in Middle Earth?

Because it wasn't looking like it.

Fuck.

* * *

**Ack, Marilyn! Is it the Deep Magic, or her own heart talking?**

**Even I'm not sure...**

**...**

**Do we even care?**

**Anyway, the songs mentioned are:**

**_Runaway Baby, by Bruno Mars_**

**and (obviously)**

**_Let Her Go, By Passenger_**

**OH and NEWS!**

**_The Misadventures of An Impervious Mary-Sue _****now has a Tumblr! Link is on my bio page. I am posting a photo session of Marilyn's outfit and gear, for those of you who GAGGD (give a good god damn. ;) feel free to comment on it, or leave requests for other things from the story you'd like to see. **

**I am also considering a Beta. Anybody interested? PM me. (:**

**And if anyone out there has artistic skills, has seen the photo session, and is interested, I ****_really_**** want to get an illustration of Marilyn. If nobody does it, I will; and that may result in a serious deterioration of FF readers' eyesight. Just putting that out there! Also PM me if interested.**

**Chapter 7 is refusing to come out of the closet...maybe we can coax it out with some reviews? ;)**


	8. Chapter 7

**Helllloooooo peoples! SO sorry for the updating gap; I've been finishing up a seasonal story I've been writing and took a break from LOTR to get in the Christmas mood…which is MUCH harder than you'd think, in February. O.o **

**Anyway, here we are. Chapter 7 has agreed to come out of the closet (and is very much hoping that it is NOT gay…I'm looking at YOU, LivLoveLaughForever! ;) Thank you to all of the lovely reviewers who were patient with me during the long and arduous wait. At least, it was arduous for me.**

**But I digress (crap, do I do that a lot.) Let's get down to business: **

**¡WARNING!**

**THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS: RINGWRAITH TRASHING, MIST, RAIN, MUD, HOBBITS, MEETINGS, MORE MIST, MORE HOBBITS, NAMES AND RENAMING, MANY SMALL REFERENCES TO THE COMMENTARY EXTENDED VERSIONS OF THE MOVIES, AND THE RUNNING (FROM RINGWRAITHS), ANGSTY WORRYING ABOUT ONE RANGER, HAVE I MENTIONED SWEARING YET? SWEARING, MENTAL AND OTHERWISE, HOBBITY CUTENESS, A WISH, AND A MYSTERIOUS PERSON WHO FALLS (QUITE LITERALLY) BACK INTO THE STORY.**

**Right.**

**THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO: _StormwalkerofLorien_, who is now BETA for this story! YUSSS!*fist pump* This will undoubtedly be more epic because of you ;),_ BooDude, moon-night-ninja (thanks!), coldbloodedPRINCESShanna24, coldbloodedPRINCESShanna24, coldbloodedPRINCESShanna24,and coldbloodedPRINCESShanna24 _(four times, four reviews. LUCKY! Your comments were lovely, thanks :)_, LivLoveLaughForever (_I thought I'd lost your interest! *sob* *slaps face* glad to hear there was a reason for your silence, much like mine. Glad the DM is pissing you off! I mean, it's terrible, and I suck; but…you know ;) and_ 5, _yes_ 5, guests: Guest, guest, Guest _(same Guest capital G?),_ Alice _(hi Alice!) and_ guest _(same guest lowercase g? maybe not…:/**

**Hope you guys like the chapter.**

**ONWARD!**

* * *

Chapter 7

In which I find some Hobbits, Rename some Hobbits, and Make a Wish (Upon a Star)

_Last Chapter:_

_I swung up onto the horse, and rode off before I followed what my heart wanted me to do._

_I had orders from Elrond. The Halflings were to be saved at any cost._

_…_

_Dammit!_

_Was I ever going to do anything right in Middle Earth?_

_Because it wasn't looking like it._

_Fuck._

…

Find the hobbits. Find the hobbits. Find the hobbits.

VALARDAMMIT, WHERE ARE THESE HOBBITS!?

These were the thoughts flitting around in my addled mind as I fled Bree. The Road was dark; and it was clouded with a cliché mist that would have made Peter Jackson proud. I, unfortunately, didn't have the time to hang around breathing in mist, gratefully.

Horatio (this was the name I'd given to 'our' horse) was galloping along at full speed. I wanted to clear as much distance between me and those ringwraiths as possible…for the sake of the hobbits I was trying to find. If it were up to me, I would be back in that hellhole of an inn dishing out some serious whoop-ass alongside Aragorn. But, as we all know by now, the Deep Magic is a total bitch and apparently doesn't want me to have any fun. So here I was, riding along a badly lit road in the middle of the night, searching for some small, big footed dudes who would most likely be hiding from me since I was wearing a long flowing black cape with the hood thrown over my head.

JOY.

With an annoyed sigh, I slowed Horatio to a canter and flicked the hood back. Soon the damn rain would be all in my hair, which would feel nasty and make me look like a wet cat. An angry wet cat. Good times.

Now, how in this fucking ass backward mash-up of Tolkien's work and nonsense was I going to spot four tired, cold, wet, hungry and frightened hobbits, in the dark?

Oh yeah. Maglite. Thanks, modern day technology.

And, of course, Gandalf. I was seriously liking that dude right now. Again.

I turned the beam on, and began scanning along the roadside, hoping desperately that Frodo and the others hadn't already become Nazgûl roadkill. There were heavy tracks in the road, the mud having been churned up from the hooves of those not-so-noble black steeds the Emo Riders were wearing. Hmmm, Emo Riders… apparently my mind had begun to capitalize letters too. But the title I found to be fitting, and anyway, it satisfied my pissed-offness towards the assholes on horseback working for the Rapunzel Cyclops who was too much of a lazy bastard to come out of his tower and kill me off himself.**  
**

Yeah. That.

Finally, the bright beam of my flashlight bounced off on something shiny in the bushes. I doubled back, and found that it was gone…but a muffled rustling was coming from the bush. As well as faint arguing.

"Pippin! Get back from the…"

"I know, Sam. The wraiths passed us an hour ago. But we don't know who this person is!"

"I just want to have a snack, Merry!'

"We're hiding for our lives!"

"Oh lay off, would you?" A loud crunch as of someone biting a chuck out of an apple cut through the mist and rain.

I grinned. Hobbits. I loved them already.

"You're lucky I'm not a wraith," I called out, and the chatter immediately ceased.

"Who goes there?" yelled a voice; Frodo, undoubtedly, as he sounded exactly like Elijah Wood. Um…trippy…

"Do not fear, master hobbits. I am a friend of Gandalf the Grey. I mean you no harm—in fact, I have come to keep you from it." I swung down off of Horatio and landed in the mud with an audible squish.

Boy, was I thankful for my watertight boots right about now. That was one way at least that the Deep Magic couldn't SUE me; my fashion sense deemed slingbacks and flats a waste of time.

Because, of course, they were.

"What is your name?" The tone of Frodo's voice had me convinced that this was some sort of a test, or password question.

"Marilyn, Marilyn Comett," I said carefully. "But I prefer to be called MJ."

An outburst of excited cries came from the bush. And then, out tramped the four hobbits.

They looked tired. And wet. And cold. And hungry…VERY hungry, for that matter. But they didn't look frightened. Instead, they looked very glad to see me. Which was…a pleasant surprise.

"Gandalf told us that if he could not come, you would meet us, along with a man called Strider," Frodo said, his eyes shining in relief under his sopping wet locks. He looked around. "Is the man not far off?"

"Actually, he's…pretty far off right now," I said ruefully. "I think he's battling those Emo Riders back in Bree."

Sam gave me a confused and wary look. Typical, from him. "What in the Shire is an 'Emo Rider'?"

Wow, he could do caps too. "Well, we're not technically in the Shire anymore, Master Gamgee; but an 'Emo Rider' is my disdainful term for those blossoming black beauties known as the Nazgûl." I shook my head bitterly. "You may find I use odd vernacular occasionally…overly informal. I assure you that while I do not have a dual personality, I am plagued with some…conflicting issues, that make me a bit out of sorts from time to time."

"I see." Sam eyed me from head to toe. "And you are our protection against those wraiths? What would you do, to save us?"

"And would you turn off that…torch?!" Pippin squealed through a mouthful of apple. Nothing was putting him off his snack, that was for sure. I admired his gutsy resolve not to be pressured out of his noshing. "We can't even see you!"

"Oh crap. Sorry." I lowered the flashlight's beam to the mud, allowing the ambient light to make us all visible to one another. "Believe it or not, I am actually the more prepared of my company to protect you. Strider is even more distraught then I am. Especially now."

A loud shriek cut through the mist, from the direction of Bree. We all looked toward the sound anxiously.

"Shit," I muttered, then turned back to the hobbits. "I know you'd love to come up with lots of reasons not to trust me, Sam; but I will assure you: protecting Mr. Frodo is my number one priority, as it is yours. We are on the same team here." I gestured to Merry and Pippin, who I began helping up onto Horatio's back one at a time. "I know what it is you carry," I said to Frodo with a meaningful glance, doing my own version of what Aragorn should have been saying. Frodo's eyes widened. "I have no longing for it; only a strong loathing, stronger than perhaps any other in Middle Earth. Do not fret for your safety. I am the only person you will never have to worry will betray you for want of the Ring."

At this moment, I noticed Merry shivering against the cold. He was the only hobbit who was jacketless. "Meriadoc, what has happened to your coat?" I asked.

"I…l-lost it during our run through Buckland," he chattered, rubbing his arms to create friction. My heart went out to the little dude; he had so little body mass by sheer size that he had to be colder than me.

I took off my cloak and wrapped it around him. "Here. It will be a long cold night. You will need it more than I will."

"Thank you…" Merry began, uncertainly. God, he looked just like Dominic Monaghan, it was creepy. Only Merry really was three foot seven.

"MJ," I said kindly. I even smiled at him a little. "Call me MJ…no lady MJ, just MJ."

"Alright." Merry grinned, and adjusted the cloak on his shoulders with several little shrugs. "MJ. Well, how do I look?"

"Like a king," I said, then laughed a little, even though it was completely out of place. "King Dom."

"Dom?" he asked, puzzled. And that was when I remembered that this really was Middle Earth, and this really was Meriadoc Brandybuck.

"Yeah…Dom," I said lamely. Then an idea hit me. "Dom! It's a nickname, where I come from. It means, 'an epically cool guy'."

"Huh." Merry thought about this. "I like it. You can call me Dom, if you want."

"I…I want a nickname too!" Pippin cried eagerly.

Hey…this might just be something…

"Okay," I said, helping Sam swing up in front of Merry—I MEAN Dom. "How about, 'Billy'? It means 'apple lover'." I was quite literally pulling these out of thin air, as these were traits exhibited by both actor and character. But it was tickling their fancy, I could see.

Not to mention it was mother effing hilarious for me.

Pippin looked at the core in his hand, then at me, then at the core again. "You're joking."

"I wish," I laughed, which wasn't really a yes or no.

"It suits you, Pippin," Frodo said with a light edge to his tone. I saw that he was smirking. "Billy is a very nice name."

"And what about me?" said Sam, crossing his arms petulantly.

"For you, Samwise," I said, adopting a sagely expression that was probably lost in the darkness, "I think Sean is a good one."

"And just what does 'Sean' mean?" Sam asked, not unpleasantly, as I hefted Frodo up in front of him. It was a good thing Horatio was such a large horse, because I could easily fit all four hobbits onto his back. A strange tingle ran down my arm as I held him up, and I think Frodo noticed it too…that, and a strange white glow began to radiate from my chest. Frodo took a look and gasped.

It was my pendant. Glowing white.

"Y-you are Mariel's heir!" Frodo gasped. "Bilbo has told me of your Prophecy!"

I sighed. "Cripes, does anybody not know about that thing?"

Another screech from Bree's direction. Then, several more.

"We need to get out of here," I said quickly, glancing up at Frodo.

But Frodo now wore a resolved expression. "I understand your words now," he said seriously. "I will trust you to protect us. Lead us where you will."

I gave a sharp nod, and bit back my sigh of relief. "Into the Wilds," I said, knowing that that is where Aragorn would have led us. "To the House of Elrond we must go. You will be safe there." I grabbed Horatio's reins and made for the cover of the dark wood to our left, thinking with some bitterness that it should AGAIN be Aragorn leading them, not me; and that I didn't belong here, giving the hobbit's nicknames that were the real names of their actors in my own world.

It made me feel better, as if perhaps this really were just a movie shoot with cameras hidden somewhere, instead of my reality.

But with Ringwraiths having most likely just ended Isildur's heir, and now coming to end me and my hobbit charges, now was REALLY not the time to mentally give myself ethics lectures, now was it?

And for the first time, I wished that Aragorn were there, even if only to be my backup.

Who was I kidding? I needed a pep talk; and that guy LOVED to give me pep talks…mostly when I didn't want them. Now, when I did, he was nowhere to be found. Most likely filleted back in Bree, somewhere underneath the swinging sign of the Mangy Mustang. Ugh.

GREAT. That was going to be AWESOME to explain to Elrond and Arwen. Fabulous.

Fuck.

* * *

I led Horatio and the hobbits into the Wilds all night. As the sounds of the wraiths faded into the distance, they gradually relaxed a bit. This both flattered and unnerved me; as I was glad to see they trusted me, but I was also scared shitless to be in charge of Frodo's safety.

Talk about 'fate of the world in you hands'.

They didn't speak for the first few hours. But then, sometime around two in the morning, Sam and Frodo started talking to me. 'Dom' and 'Billy' had fallen asleep in the saddle, and were leaning into Sam's back, giving him a cramp.

"'Dom' and 'Billy' are leaning into by back. It's giving me a cramp," Sam whispered in complaint.

Told you.

"Hang in there, Sam," Frodo whispered. "Or…would you prefer to be called Sean after all?"

Sam grunted. "Well, seeing as everyone else is getting one of these odd nicknames, I may as well make use of mine. What does it mean, anyway?"

"'Responsible one'," I said. That was putting it nicely.

"Oh." Sam seemed pleased. "Well then. I think I like it, too."

I looked back at them, smirking, and found that Frodo wore much the same expression as me. "Good for you, Sean," I said teasingly. The moon had come out by now, and I saw 'Sean' duck his head shyly.

"Well, it's not a bad thing," he argued weakly. "And frankly, Samwise gets a little stale after so many years of having it lobbed at your head by your own gaffer."

"I see." I looked back at Frodo; but he was quiet. "Are you alright there, Frodo?"

"Yes," Frodo said, reluctantly. "But…you haven't given me one. A nickname that is."

I chuckled. "I hadn't expected you guys to really care all that much." If this was the Deep Magic working, then at least I was getting a kick out of it…FOR ONCE.

"I do," Frodo insisted. "If you would be willing to give me one."

"Gladly," I said. "I already have one picked out for you. It is one of my personal favorites: Elijah."

"Elijah." Frodo let the name roll off of his tongue, as if tasting it. "Eli-jah. What does it mean?"

I thought. Until now, I'd been thinking Oh my fucking GOSH these guys are SO gullible; but something about what—or HOW—Frodo had asked me made me actually stop and consider: just what would Frodo need in a name? "It means," I said finally, "'a small strength that endures'."

"'A small strength that endures'." said Frodo solemnly, then fell silent. Probably thinking about his quest so far, and (incorrectly) thinking that it was nearly over, once we reached Rivendell. "Thank you," he said finally. "It is perfect."

"You're welcome," I said quietly, thinking, thank the Deep Magic; I have no control over what the actors were named. But I knew he meant for the meaning, and so I wisely (I KNOW, FOR ONCE) held my tongue.

It was quiet; the wind was bitterly cold and I felt it more from my lack of cloak. But I ignored these thoughts to think of something else; anything to distract me from the reality of how dangerous a situation I had sway over. Unfortunately, the only thing that came to mind was a worse situation: Aragorn. We (mostly I) had fought; we (mostly I AGAIN) had had a bit of a falling out. But before I'd even left Bree I'd known I'd been wrong; and though I knew Aragorn was a good fighter, Elrond had warned me that the Nazgûl's wrath towards him was doubled, both because of his blood and because of me. I knew it was Aragorn who had fought off the wraiths on Weathertop…or, well, he should have…

OH. SHIT.

Weathertop was where I was heading now.

If those wraiths were still behind me…

A nasty shiver ran up my spine.

I was actually going to have to follow through on my promise to kick their asses.

Not that I didn't want to; it was just, I had hobbits to watch out for, and Frodo…oh fuck, Frodo would get stabbed….

I squared my shoulders, and huffed angrily at the thought. No way in HELL was I letting that happen. All that shit later, with the stab wound, and the unsettled feeling back in the Shire, which made him go out of Middle Earth…

Fuck no! I wasn't letting it happen! END OF STORY!

Or, well, beginning of story. Whatever.

Dammit, Aragorn, why the fuck did we have to have a flirt/pissing match right BEFORE the Nasgûl showed up? I needed you HERE! With two of us, I wouldn't have had to worry!

Dumbass Deep Magic, I thought, not for the first time, and obviously not the last. I mean, c'mon people! You've been reading this thing; I'll probably want to murder the damn thing a bajillion times over before this story is through.

I looked up at the sky in frustration. Being in Middle Earth was nothing like I'd expected, or hoped. I fingered my pendant mindlessly, thinking of all the things that had gone wrong—'right', in everyone else's book—and wished that, for once, something could go right in MY book.

That Aragorn would live, and, somehow, show up before Weathertop.

And that's when I heard a loud snap in the bushes to my right, and something crashed into me.

* * *

Horatio was a good horse; but that thing had come out of nowhere, and just flattened me like a Mack Truck. He started and woke the rest of the hobbits up, while rearing and whinnying in fear of the sudden intruder. I heard Sam yelling, and prayed to anything BUT the Deep Magic that Horatio wouldn't accidentally trample me to death.

Orc. That was the first thing that came to mind as the person landed flat on top of me. It literally seemed like it had fallen from the sky. I hadn't had time to draw my sword, and my bow was trapped beneath my back; but I kept a longish dagger tucked into my belt, and my arm was free enough to reach for it. Whatever the thing was, it was dark, and VERY heavy. I quickly slipped out the dagger and set it under where I guessed was the thing's chin, with grace that I didn't know I had; grace that would have made an elf envious. Dare I say perks of Deep Magic?

Nah, I'd trained for this shit.

Horatio's hooves came crashing down a few feet from our heads. "Don't. Move," I whispered, in my best 'I'll kill you right now if you try anything bitch' tone.

"Wasn't planning on it," said a familiar voice, and it took a minute for my mind to register who had just spoken.

By then, he'd looked up.

"Aragorn?" I gasped.

It really was. How the fuck…

He looked at me, bewildered. "Marilyn?"

"Manen…ledhiach o man sad?!" came out of my mouth before I could stop it.

"Im maer." That cheeky bastard grinned at me. Speaking of cheeky, he had a large gash across his right cheekbone, and looked to be in pretty bad shape altogether, but not in bad spirits. "Miss me?"

I snorted at this. "Thiach uanui, pe channas!"

Aragorn's lips turned down into a frown. "You have a way with words, my lady," he said, displeasure evident in his tone. "Unless I am much mistaken, you are the one who ran off."

"Get the fuck off of me," I growled, sticking the point of my dagger against the skin of his neck.

Aragorn hesitated. "This is the thanks I get, for fighting off five Nasgûl single-handedly?" I pressed the tip a little harder. With a sigh, he began to rise.

I was so glad for the darkness hiding my blush. For god's sake; the guy is gone for like, five hours, and the next time he sees me, he's got me pinned underneath him?

A few words came to mind. Deep. Magic. Valardammit.

Yeah, those. For starters.

He helped me to my feet. With an awesome wrist flick thing that I hadn't realized I knew how to do, I put the dagger away, and glared at him. "How in this fucked up world did you get here so valardamn quickly?" I asked, enraged. "You were in Bree, and I was a good hour's ride away before the wraiths left there."

"NO idea," Aragorn admitted.

"Oh, so for once you don't have all the answers?"

With a long stare, Aragorn said, "I was hoping you'd know. I was just outside of the Pony, assessing the damage and trying to figure out where you'd gone, when suddenly, I was rushing headfirst out of those bushes."

I laughed. "Yeah, right. Nice story, bro."

Aragorn opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it, staring oddly at my neckline. "What?" I demanded.

"The Dannen Gíl," he breathed. "It's glowing."

I looked down. "Yeah, it's been doing that for a bit."

Aragorn glanced between me and the pendant. "Didn't Lord Elrond tell you?"

"About what?"

"About the power of that Pendant." He stared hard at it. "It can grant wishes, you know."

"Wishes?" My stomach tensed. Damn. That would make sense.

"Yes. When the Pendant is active, it can grant wishes that the Bearer makes…to a point. Summoning others is one of its abilities." His look of astonishment morphed into a sly smile. "Did you wish for me, my lady?"

I hate to admit that I gaped like a fish at this. "Y-you…" I stuttered, then glanced at the hobbits, flustered.

Frodo was watching me with no little amusement. "You're male companion, I imagine?" he said wryly. I felt heat spring to my cheeks again. "Strider, is it?"

"We're just friends," I said, at the exact same moment Aragorn said,

"We're betrothed."

Aw, fuck.

I turned to Aragorn, and slapped him on the arm. "Stop making me want you gone again; you've barely been here three minutes," I snapped, but my embarrassment cut through my words. Dammit!

"I think it's time we made camp," Aragorn said. "The horse is tired."

"His name is Horatio," I said haughtily. Then I gestured to the hobbits. "These are our hobbits: from front to rear, Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin. My dear hobbits, this is Strider, sometime Aragorn, sometime Chief Asshole." Merry stifled a snicker. "He is the one who just gave those Emo Riders a walloping…right?" I looked at him expectantly.

Aragorn shrugged. "More or less."

"Okay…" I couldn't tell if this was just modesty, or something else. Something worse. "We'll talk about that privately."

"I look forward to it," said Aragorn coyly. Fuck. He grabbed Horatio's bridle and led him past me."But perhaps after we get our charges settled as comfortably as possible…given the circumstances."

"Ohh! I'll make the fire!" Pippin cried excitedly.

"Nobody's letting you near the tinder box, Pip," said Merry.

"No fire," said Aragorn sternly. "We cannot risk attracting the attention of those who track us."

Pippin visibly sagged in the saddle.

"Don't worry," I said sarcastically. "He's like this all the time."

"Then I'm glad you're with us, Miss MJ," Sam muttered, making that the first truly nice thing he'd said to me. "Someone's got to have a bit of good common sense and likability."

He'd said Miss, though.

Aw, screw it. That one comment made me feel more welcome than the hospitality of the elves, or the adoration of an heir, or the help of a wizard.

The Shire must truly be a great realm, Master Gamgee; where gardeners are held in high honor.

"So am I, Sean," I said. "So am I."

"I thought his name was Sam."

I rolled my eyes. "Quiet, noob."

That Ranger, I swear.

* * *

**Yaaaaay Hobbits! Aragorn is such a durp! Horatio is a fabulous horse! Marilyn seems to be gaining an upper hand on her feels against the DM! Seems being a keyword! All of these facts are TRUE! **

**Well, except for the first one, which is more of a statement. **

**But you all knew that.**

**…**

**_Elvish translations:_**

**_M: How…where did you come from?_**

**_A: I'm fine._**

**_M: you look terrible, idiot!_**

**_…_**

**ANYONE WHO CAN CATCH THE REFERENCES TO THE COMMENTARY AND WELL KNOWN CAST TRIVIA WILL EARN A PLATE OF HOMEMADE FRESHLY BAKED SASS COOKIES! THAY ARE TANGY, SNAPPY AND DELECTABLE! ;)**

**Okay, so you know the drill by now. Reviews equal love, equals more chapters because words plus love equals chapters, and chapters equals more of Marilyn's antics and misadventures, which equals both Tolkien and PJ's works being slaughtered. The math of this looks a little like:**

**R=L=C when W+L=C=+M+a=m= -T-PJ= 010 =∞ and ? **

**0_0**

**Right.**

**So hit me up! Let your word be heard.**

**Lol. Nerd.**

**AUGH! ^_^**


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